


Sinister Side

by Freya_Ishtar



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Angst, Drama, F/F, F/M, Gen, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Multi, Reality Hopping, Romance, Smut, UST, poly-fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-03-30 22:46:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 29,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13961688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freya_Ishtar/pseuds/Freya_Ishtar
Summary: After a knock on the head, Hermione awakes in a world not her own. Severus and Sirius are still alive, Voldemort never returned, Lucius is kind, and being a Muggle-born is a good thing? Despite learning to enjoy this new world, she feels the need to learn what she was up to when her accident occurred, even at the risk of waking back in her old life. *Poly-fic*





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> FANCAST: Tom Hiddleston (specific to his role as Thomas Sharpe in Crimson Peak) as Severus Snape; Jared Leto as Sirius Black; Alexander Skarsgard as Lucius Malfoy.
> 
> * If you do not agree with my fancast choices, feel free to imagine whomever you like in these roles.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter, or any affiliated characters, and make no profit from this work.

 

**Chapter One**

All Hermione Granger could think as she saw the antiquated, leather-bound tome sailing straight for her was,  _Huh . . . Harry was right._

It was the morning after her nineteenth birthday, there might've been some sneaked Fire Whiskey being passed about Gryffindor Tower last night in celebration, and Harry had said, "I know you've got plans to help Madam Pince in the library tomorrow, but maybe rescheduling might be a good idea."

When Hermione started seeing two of everything, no matter how she blinked or wiped at her eyes between giggles, she had agreed. But then, this morning when she awoke tired, but blessedly hang-over free, she thought she was fine, and that perhaps a little activity would shake the exhaustion.

Until just now . . . . Until, in her tired state, she sent the tome now flying at her into the wrong place on the shelf. The shelves were very temperamental these days, and they just as quickly spat the book—and a  _few_  others—back out at her.

It was in her attempt to dodge the other volumes raining down on her that she noticed the weightiest one of all coming straight at her.

She managed to whisper a rushed, "Bollocks," before the spine of the tome hit her square in the head.

* * *

As she felt herself being carried, she recalled just the faintest flashes of opening her eyes to the sight of dark, unfamiliar stone ceilings above her. Where the hell was she? Deciding she'd been hit in the head harder than she thought—especially if she was being  _carried_  to the hospital wing—she closed her eyes and just waited for the seemingly ceaseless motion around her to stop.

Hermione must've drifted back into unconsciousness, she realized, because the next thing she knew, she felt the press of a warm hand against her forehead, then each side of her throat and the nauseating movement jostling her had stopped. She was aware of hushed snippets of conversation going on, but didn't dare believe she recognized the male voice so very close to her.

Yet, as she slowly blinked open her eyes to squint at the bright surroundings of the school hospital wing, she did, in fact, meet the gaze of one Lucius Malfoy.

And . . . more startling than his mere presence there was the gentle smile curving his lips as he looked down at her. "Ah, Miss Granger, welcome back. You've got a rather nasty bump on the head, but do not appear to have a concussion. Are you experiencing any pain or discomfort anywhere?"

Hermione forced several rapid blinks as she tried to process what she was seeing. Yes, this  _was_  Lucius Malfoy before her, but that smile reached his grey eyes, and though his long, pale hair and high-end robes were as impeccable as she recalled from before he'd lost Voldemort's favor, he looked . . . younger? Or perhaps just less world-weary? Yes, that seemed it.

None of that answered the question of what the bloody hell he was doing there!

"Um . . ." was all she could force out, her brow furrowing as she tried to sit up. "I don't think so?"

Clamping his large hands over her shoulders, he was delicate, but firm as he pushed her back down and tutted at her. " _I_ have not yet cleared you to leave this bed," he said, his voice stern.

Well, his bedside manner left something to be desired, didn't it?

He certainly did seem to be in authority here, however, and she did spy the white band around his upper arm, designating him as a Healer. Oh, dear God,  _what_ was happening?

"I'm  _very_  confused," she confided in a low tumble of words.

"What is the last thing you remember?"

"Before being carried in here?" She watched as he withdrew his wand and waved it over her in a brief scan. He held out his left hand as he did so, fingers splayed, and she noticed his hand was bare . . . . where was Mr. Malfoy's wedding band?

The notion stuck out to her because he was a pure-blood wizard, married to a pure-blood witch. While it would be perfectly logical for Narcissa Malfoy to have divorced him following the War's end were they Muggles, the concept of divorce was still  _wildly_ unconventional among Wizarding society.

"Yes," he said, unaware of her scrutiny.

"I recall . . . getting hit in the head, I think?" She frowned, scrambling to remember how this turn of events she'd awoken to had come about.

"Do you remember what you were doing in the tunnels beneath the dungeons?"

Her chestnut eyes shot wide as she shook her head—only to wince at the momentary dizzying effect that resulted from the movement. "I was  _where_?"

Lucius' brows drew upward as he lowered his wand and met her gaze. "I will take that as a no, then."

Hermione frowned harder. This was all wrong . . . wasn't it? Perhaps she was going mad, or had hit her head harder than she'd thought and couldn't remember correctly?

"What  _do_ you recall, Miss Granger?" he asked as he sat back down.

"I remember you, but . . ." she said with a slow shake of her head. Maybe it was best she keep  _exactly_ how differently she recalled things to herself until she understood her circumstances a bit better. "And the school, obviously. We're . . . we  _are_  still rebuilding, aren't we?"

"Of course we are, but then it turned out having the school closed since just after Halloween wasn't quite enough time to fix all the damage those blasted dragons did, as we'd hoped."

She could not hide the look of shock on her face. "Dragons?"

"The colony they attempted to host under school sponsorship that got . . . shall we say out of hand?"

He explained so matter-of-factly that Hermione's dread at well and truly having not the foggiest notion of what was going on only increased. A dragon colony? Here? Oh, that was madness on the face of it!

But if that was the cause of the school's need for reparation, then . . . . There'd been no Second Wizarding War?

Lucius pursed his lips in thought as he watched her fret in silence. "You may have amnesia from that blow to your head. However, the memory loss could pass on its own. The easiest way to tell is to have you go about your normal routine. If this is not serious, then in a few days, everything should come back to you."

Hermione nodded as he called out to Madam Pomfrey, seated to one side of the long front desk. "Poppy, dear? Could you possibly fetch Miss Granger's schedule? It seems she's having a bit of trouble with her memory due to her head trauma."

"Certainly," the Medi-witch said with a nod as she stood and excused herself from the room.

Hermione pulled herself to sit up, then, despite the displeased look the  _Healer_  shot her. She narrowed her eyes in challenge, daring him to tell her to lay back.

Arching a brow, he gave her a quizzical once-over.

That look. Did she not often challenge people, she wondered? Funny, she'd always considered herself a smidgen feisty. "But I remember things that contradict what you're telling me . . . ."

He shrugged as he leaned forward a bit. "Sometimes, after suffering even a minor head injury, we can imagine things, and when we wake, those imaginings can become mixed up with our actual memories. As I said, maintaining your normal routine should help clear your head, and set things to rights."

Madam Pomfrey returned then, handing a small scroll over to Lucius.

"Thank you, Poppy," he said, turning to playfully swat her on the bum as she walked away.

Hermione's jaw fell. She expected the elder witch to spin around and swat him on the back of his skull in return. Instead, Madam Pomfrey uttered a scandalized giggle and went on her way.

Noticing the young woman's shock, Lucius shrugged. "She is still recovering from the loss of her husband. A little teasing every now and again to distract her from her grief is good for her. Reminds her _she_  is still alive."

"I—I see." She forced a nod, wondering what in the world she'd stumbled into, even as he handed over her class schedule.

"If, by the end of this week, you are still feeling out of sorts, please return. We will conduct another examination and determine what can be done about your memory loss. More immediately, however, if you feel ill or faint, in the  _slightest,_  I want you to return here that very instant. Preferably have someone escort you." He helped her up and tucked her arm around his, walking her across the wing. "Poppy, I will see Miss Granger to her class, so that I may explain the circumstances to her professor in-person."

Madam Pomfrey nodded and went about some filing work she was tending.

As they passed the front desk, he grabbed her bag with his free hand from what Hermione gathered was his side of the work station. She spotted a framed photograph—Lucius Malfoy and Draco. Yet, the younger wizard was clad in Durmstang robes? And Narcissa Malfoy was nowhere to be seen.

Hermione didn't dare ask what happened to the other witch. After all, what if she already knew, but simply couldn't recall just now? The very question could stir up painful memories for no good reason.

Oh, dear God! Had she really just made a decision for the sake of  _Lucius Malfoy's_  feelings? What the bloody hell was  _that_ about?

Lucius noticed the direction of her gaze as they continued through the hospital wing and out into the corridor. "Draco sends his regards, by the way, and an apology that he will not be able to attend this year's Halloween festivities. I trust you'll send the message along to Harry, as well?"

Blinking rapidly a few times, she nodded. She and Harry were friends with Draco Malfoy?

"Is, um, is escorting me to class _really_  necessary?" She was rather certain she could manage the feat of walking just fine.

"I normally would not if you are so insistent that you can see yourself there, but Severus will want to know that I did not keep his prize pupil from class any longer than strictly needed."

Hermione stumbled over her own two feet at that—okay, so perhaps she  _couldn't_ manage walking just fine. Lucius slid his arm around her shoulders, steadying her before they continued along. She tried to ignore that the warmth of him as he pulled her into his side was actually quite pleasant.

"Careful, there, Miss Granger. That could've been a rather nasty spill."

She nodded, but remained silent as she mulled over what she'd just heard. Of course it made sense that if there'd been no war, then Professor Snape would still be alive. But . . . his prize pupil?  _Her?_  And Lucius Malfoy treating her kindly?

For the umpteenth time in the space of approximately twenty minutes, she wondered what the  _bloody hell_  was happening.

"Still think an escort is unwarranted?"

Hermione glanced up at him from the corner of her eye. Though his gaze was straight ahead, trained on the stairwell he was guiding her to, she could see the slip of a grin lighting his features.

Dear God, no! He was  _joking_ with her!

Clearly, something was very, very wrong. She wanted to push him away and run as fast and as far as her legs could carry her, but hadn't her legs just proven they weren't very capable just now? And with the mildly aching bump on her head, she doubted her equilibrium would fare much better for at least the next several minutes. Fat lot of good trying to run would do her, she finally—reluctantly—decided.

As they climbed the familiar grey stone steps, she busied herself with checking over her schedule. Unfurling the scroll in her hands, she nearly tripped, again, at the first words her gaze landed upon.  _Advanced Transfiguration . . . . Professor Sirius Black_.

Sirius? He was _alive_?

Forcing a gulp down her throat, Hermione counted her blessings that she'd  _not_  stumbled again. She closed the scroll as they reached the landing and started down the second floor corridor.

_Okay, Hermione, this . . . this makes sense. Just calm down and think it through._ Yes, of course it made sense. If . . . if there was no Second Wizarding War, then Voldemort had not risen. If Voldemort had not risen, the Death Eaters locked away in Azkaban had never broken out. There'd been no battle in the Department of Mysteries. Bellatrix Lestrange hadn't been roaming free to cast the hex that knocked him into the Arch.

She was so happy tears blurred her vision before she managed to blink them away.

But wait. If there'd been no battle in the DoM, then did she no longer bear the scar from Antonin Dolohov's mysterious curse?

The motion was involuntary as she raised her arm to press her fingers just below her collarbone, where the scar started. It ran across her body to the opposite hip. She'd become quite accustomed to the sight; the mere notion of checking to see if it was still there when she had some privacy felt strange.

Lucius noticed the movement and turned his head to look down at her. "Miss Granger?"

She dropped her arm back to her side and lifted her gaze to meet his. "Hmm?"

"Something wrong?"

"Oh, no."

He tipped his head to one side, rather eloquently conveying his disbelief.

Hermione did not elaborate, but was aware of her brows drawing up her forehead in slow, pained increments as they stared at one another.

He uttered a small  _hmph_  as he smirked and shook his head. "Have it your way."

Just when she thought she could take no more of his unbearable kindness, and the even more unbearable pleasantness of being pressed to his side, he turned toward a classroom door. Hermione hadn't even stopped to consider that he'd been leading her  _up_ stairs rather than down to the potions room in the dungeons.

But hadn't he said he was taking her to Professor Snape's class? This . . . this was . . . .

He opened the door and ushered her inside.

A tall, slender figure with longish jet hair—yes, that she quite recognized—was turned away from the class, scribbling madly on the blackboard. She read the information as it flew from his hand, but . . . this was Defense Against the Dark Arts?

_Snape_  was the DADA professor?

At the sound of Lucius closing the door behind him, not only did the class turn toward the sound, but Severus Snape whirled on his heel in an impatient gesture to face the interruption.

Hermione was so startled by what she saw she was surprised she managed to remain rooted to the spot where she was. Instinct screamed at her about how wrong this was—but then, what was new today?—and that she should backpedal. When she didn't, and her second option became hiding behind Lucius, she dug her fingernails into her palm to ground herself.

Definitely, she had  _definitely_  gone mad.

The man standing at the front of the classroom, writing in Professor Snape's hand, wearing Professor Snape's typical black robes, with Professor Snape's lank and mussed black hair hanging in his eyes . . . was  _not_  a man she recognized. Unlike the mostly unchanged faces of Lucius Malfoy and Madam Pomfrey, he was a stranger to her.

Yet, the way his eyes—blue, she could see from here,  _not_  the dark eyes she remembered, at all—darted from Lucius, to her as his face twisted into an unpleasant expression was painfully familiar. But that face, itself, simply was not.

"Lucius, explain this interruption, _and_  my student's tardiness."

"That would be why I'm here, Severus."

By some miracle, Hermione managed to keep her eyes from widening at the acknowledgement as Lucius led her to the empty seat beside Harry. Lucius leaned across her—apparently not one to care about invading personal space, now—to whisper something to Harry. She could only assume he was filling in the younger wizard about her head trauma.

Giving her a parting nod, Lucius straightened and walked to the front of the room to engage Professor Snape in a similarly hushed discussion.

"What happened to Professor Snape?" she asked Harry in a whisper before she could stop herself. "Why does he look different?"

Harry flicked a glance toward the front of the classroom before whispering back. "Now I  _know_  you hit your head. Charm backfire?"

She only blinked, her expression blank.

"Reconfigured his face?"

Still, nothing.

Harry let out a quiet sigh. "Took him weeks to recover, and then he was more intolerable than usual for a few more weeks on top of that because he couldn't recognize himself. You _really_  don't remember this, do you?"

"Sorry, it's . . . ." Swallowing hard, she shook her head. "It's all a bit fuzzy." A charm backfire that took such a toll sounded awful. What he looked like now was probably the end result of a very painful process. How unfortunate for him.

Although . . . .

She could not take her eyes off that unfamiliar face, even as Harry tugged at her sleeve in an attempt to regain her attention. She'd always considered Severus Snape strangely distinguished looking. Yet, now, the man standing there, his gaze leaping to her every few seconds as he spoke with this bizarrely kind Lucius Malfoy . . . .

Well, he was really  _rather_ dashing, wasn't he? She felt the faintest tingling of warmth flood her cheeks and had to remind herself to breathe.

_Oh, bollocks._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Throughout the rest of the class—during which she was rather surprised to see Pansy Parkinson waving emphatically at her from her seat whenever this Snape-who-did-not-resemble-Snape had turned his back, seemingly trying to get an explanation for the odd circumstances—Hermione was overcome with the strangest sense that, although the professor would not look at her whenever he did face his students, he was barely refraining from glancing in her direction. As though how steadily his gaze was trained  _away_  from her was more telling than if he actually gave her even a moment of his attention.

Every now and again, she looked at Harry from the corner of her eye. Much to her relief, her best friend still looked very much the same, down to his wire-rimmed glasses and lighting bolt scar peeking out from between the always-messy dark locks spilling over his forehead.

Still, that did not explain the absurdity that was a Pansy who seemed glad to see her. But then, they were friends with Draco Malfoy, so perhaps they were friends with Pansy, too?

Dear, God, she hoped her brain would sort itself soon, because  _this_ could take a lot of getting used to.

Finally, when Hermione felt she could take no more of being so pointedly ignored—for reasons she could not begin to imagine—Professor Snape dismissed the class. Yet, as she gathered up her bag, and with the impending sense of dread that Pansy was making a bee-line for her and Harry, she was stopped mid-motion by the professor calling her.

"Miss Granger? Stay behind a moment, would you?"

Pansy halted, midstride, and Hermione exchanged a glance with Harry before she turned to face the front of the classroom. "Yes, Sir."

The delicate skin beneath the professor's eyes tightened as he narrowed his eyes at her. "Mr. Potter, if you would please wait outside so that you might escort her to her next class?" Though he spoke to Harry, his gaze did not leave Hermione.

"Of course, Professor."

She heard the retreating steps of both parties behind her, even as Pansy whispered protests of wanting to talk to the other witch. Casting a quick glance over her shoulder, Hermione thought her eyes would fall out of her head at the sight of Harry and Pansy holding hands as they stepped out into the corridor.

Harry closed the door behind them, and the sound seemed to echo through the near-empty classroom. Forcing a gulp down her throat, Hermione turned to face this unfamiliar-looking Severus Snape. Would she _ever_  get accustomed to this?

Would she remember that this was not new to her, despite how disorienting everything felt?

Severus leaned back, bracing his palms against his desk on either side of him. For several stretched and strained heartbeats, he merely looked at her.

Hermione did everything in her power not to fidget in place. Was he waiting for her to say or do something? To apologize for interrupting class, perhaps? To explain her tardiness, herself? Maybe he didn't feel Lucius Malfoy's explanation had sufficed.

She braced for a scathing lecture so hard her teeth were clenched before she even realized.

Yet, a lecture never came.

Severus shook his head, letting out a deep, rumbling sigh as he shifted his weight to fold his arms across his chest. "Lucius' current diagnosis is temporary memory loss resulting from minor head trauma. Know that, if this affects your studies, I will be . . . lenient. If you feel you will need more time on your assignments until this passes in order to refamiliarize yourself with the material, you shall have it."

Her entire body relaxed in a blink. She could feel her eyes widen as though the action was foreign to her. "Oh . . . . Professor, thank you. That is very—"

"How could you be so stupid?"

She gasped at the sudden change in demeanor that accompanied the spike in the volume of his voice. His blue eyes were narrowed and his lips pulled back from his teeth in an expression of sheer anger.

Swallowing hard, she shook her head as she tried to collect herself. "I—"

"Don't you know you could've gotten  _seriously_  injured?" He pushed away from his desk and took a few steps toward her.

"I'm sorry, I—"

"What the  _bloody hell_  were you even doing down there? You know how dangerous that place is!"

Hermione could feel her eyes well with tears, memories of being terrified of Severus Snape as a child clawing at her with his approach. Without even realizing she was moving, she backpedaled. "Professor, I—"

" _Professor?"_ He halted in an instant, his brow furrowing as his gaze swept over her, head-to-toe. Severus realized in that moment that she'd already called him that once since Harry'd closed the door, but in his ire he had not caught it. Inhaling deep and then letting the breath out slow, he nodded and took a few backward steps. "Professor . . . . Memory loss, right, yes."

Puzzled by his response, but also finding her fear diffused by it—were they more familiar to each other than her head injury would let her recall?—she only watched in silence as he pivoted on his heel and ran a hand through his hair.

Turning his head to look at her over his shoulder, he said, "We will revisit this discussion when your condition passes. In the meanwhile . . . return here after the end of classes today. I will escort you to Olivander's to select a new wand."

When her answer to his statement was a surprised look as she groped around in her robes, and then checked in her bag, he turned back toward her entirely.

"I—I don't understand," she said, her voice low and trembling, tears prepared to gather all over again. "Where is it? Where's my wand?"

She was so distracted by her panic, she did not react when he drew closer, once more. She did not even seem to notice until he clamped gentle hands around her upper arms, forcing her to snap her head up, her gaze meeting his in shock.

"It was missing when they discovered you in the tunnels. Nowhere to be found."

Even the oddity of the moment—though, she was getting the sinking feeling this was probably not odd, at all—she could only shake her head. Why wasn't she stepping back from him, or pulling out of his hold? "What? That's not possible; wands don't just vanish! Someone must've taken it!"

"Even if that is the case . . . and I assure you that if it is, the culprit  _will_ be found . . . you cannot go unprotected in the meantime."

Hermione tipped her head back to look at the ceiling, sniffling as she blinked hard to clear her eyes. "I don't understand what is happening. I'm so confused by  _everything_!"

Severus watched her expression shifting with her flood of emotions as he said, "Perhaps the trip to Diagon Alley will help refresh your memory. Today, after classes. Yes?"

Lowering her head, she met his gaze once more. He was being so kind to her. Just as with Lucius Malfoy, the wild unfamiliarity of it made her want to pull away and run as fast and as far as she could get.

Yet, something in his eyes made her want to stay right where she was.

She found herself nodding. "Okay."

He relinquished his hold on her then, jutting his chin toward the door.

Hermione turned on her heel and started away. As she reached the door, she could not help but glance back at him. She'd expected he'd have already gone back to the blackboard to prepare for his next class.

Severus Snape had not budged. This unfamiliar-faced, unfamiliarly- _familiar_ , Severus Snape stood rooted to the spot, his arms folded across his chest, again, as he watched her go.

And, again, she had to remind herself to breathe.

Giving herself a shake—which she was certain he noticed, but there did not seem very much she could do about that—Hermione opened the door and stepped from the room. After such quiet, the barrage of sounds that greeted her made her wince.

She wasn't certain which noises surprised her more, though, the myriad of passing students fighting to be heard over one another as they said hello to her, or, much closer to where she stood, the rushed and heavy breaths that sounded just  _so_ wrong for their location. She didn't want to turn her head to look for the source of the sound, she didn't, she didn't . . . .

So  _why_  did she?

To her shock and horror, there were Harry and Pansy against the wall beside the classroom door. The pair was so absolutely tangled up with each other that they didn't even seem to notice her presence—as evidenced by Pansy raising her knee to curl her leg around Harry's hip . . . . Things got worse, fast, as Hermione could not unsee the way her best friend's pelvis jerked, his head down as he covered the dark-haired witch's throat in hungry kisses.

In sheer disbelief that they were doing such a thing out in the open—coping with the very idea that  _they_ were doing such a thing, at all, would have to wait—Hermione looked about, once more.

The other students traversing the corridor didn't seem to give the distracted pair more than a passing glance, perhaps accompanied by a knowing grin, or a nod of approval. To her relief, she spotted Professor Slughorn approaching.

_Oh, thank God! A teacher! Maybe_  he'll _put a stop to this madness._

Yet, the potions professor—or, whom she assumed must be the potions professor if Severus Snape was teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts—merely glanced up at her, and the couple beside her, before returning his attention to a scroll open in his hands.

"Hello, Miss Granger, Mr. Potter, Miss Parkinson."

"Oh, Hermione," Pansy practically shouted as she and Harry peeled apart. "Sorry, didn't realize you'd finished, already."

Harry turned to face his best friend, an immediate expression of concern twisting his features. "Are you all right? You look a bit flushed. Do you want me to take you back to the hospital wing?"

She could only blink stupidly at him as she tried to process the incident. It did not register on him that her flushed state was due to what she just caught them up to. No one else—not even a teacher—seemed shocked by the occurrence.

Awkward though it was, Hermione realized this was probably just another thing she was having trouble remembering.

Especially when another couple happened by, their hands buried beneath each other's robes as though it was perfectly normal to grope one's significant other in a school corridor on the way to their next class.

Drawing a deep breath, Hermione buried her face in her hands as she exhaled slow. If this was normal, then . . . that was it, it was normal, she just . . . . She just _had_  to remember. She had to try to recall what things were correct, and what—as Lucius Malfoy had suggested—were the work of some detailed imagining she'd had while unconscious.

Oh, if only her thoughts and recollections weren't  _so_  tangled, this might make sense! This might seem like a perfectly run-of-the-mill day if she could only remember things clearly.

Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin as Pansy looped an arm around her shoulders. "Harry, maybe we  _should_  take her to—"

"I'm okay!" Hermione dropped her hands from her face as she forced herself not to shrug out of the other witch's hold. "Honestly, I'm—I'm fine. It's just . . .  _very_ disconcerting to feel as though you don't know what's going on."

"Let's just get to next class, then, okay?" Harry suggested, forcing a grin.

Hermione nodded and allowed them to guide her along the corridor and past all the students still shouting warm greetings to her as she walked by. She couldn't make sense of it. It only became more confusing when Justin Finch-Fletchley passed them going in the opposite direction, seeming to receive similar treatment.

Like they were low-key celebrities, or something. She could not comprehend this madness!

Sooner than she could try to understand the unexpectedly chaotic trip through the corridors, the pair walking with her pulled her to a stop before a classroom door. She realized that she'd not even thought to ask which subject this was.

Then, Harry pulled her inside, and she saw Sirius standing before the blackboard. Her heart hammered behind her rib cage. Her last recollection of this man was of losing him . . . .

Yet, there her friend stood.

She only barely registered the heart-eyed girls already seated at their desks, floating notes to the teacher's desk while his back was turned. Though she wanted to pretend she didn't know they were love notes, she—just as with Harry and Pansy clinging to each other in the corridor—could not unsee the lovingly drawn hearts decorating the backs of the parchment as they drifted through the air.

Try as she might to muster up some memory that contradicted the image of him falling through that blasted Arch, nothing would come. She was confused and relieved, in equal measure.

As she watched him in profile while he continued jotting spell mechanics on the board, she couldn't help but note that—much like her observation of Lucius—his face was quite unchanged, but he did appear younger. Less world-weary, yes. Perhaps the notion of him spending twelve years in Azkaban, and all the tragic, weighty stresses that came with it, had been a work of her imagination, as well?

Then, Sirius turned to face them, a smile brightening his features as he caught her gaze and winked. "And how _is_  my favorite student, today?"

Harry uttered a feigned scoffing sound. "I thought  _I_  was your favorite student!"

Sirius chuckled and waved his hand dismissively as he said, "Oh, you're my godson, I  _have_  to say that."

Pansy giggled. "Every day with the same rubbish. Do you two never tire of this routine?"

Everything about him was _so_  blessedly familiar. The long jet hair, those blue-grey eyes, the beard that was always  _just_ this side of scraggly, the pitch of his voice as he joked with Harry.

Before she even realized she'd moved, Hermione was in front of Sirius. She threw her arms around him, hugging him tight as she sniffled and blinked back tears. She didn't even care that they were in full view of the entirety of the class.

Blinking in surprise, Sirius only grinned and hugged her back. "Not that I'm complaining, but what, exactly, is this about?"

Joining them in front of the blackboard—Hermione's show of affection doing little to staunch the flow of letters hitting the teacher's desk—Harry quickly explained his best friend's condition.

"Oh, God." Sirius just as quickly loosened his embrace to hold Hermione at arms' length and give her a once-over. "Are you all right?"

Finally grasping how wildly she'd probably overstepped, Hermione's eyes shot wide as she met his gaze. "Oh, I'm . . . . I'm so sorry, Sirius—I—I mean, Professor Black. Everything is a little, um, scrambled right now. I  _sort_ of recall everything, but you're one of the only things I remember solidly."

A smirk curved his lips. "Well, I suppose I shall take that as a compliment, then."

Hermione couldn't help but smile back at him. Had Sirius' mirthful expressions always been so contagious?

"Now, go take your seat, the lesson is about to begin." His blue-grey eyes glittered as he caught her chin between with gentle fingers. Lowering the pitch of his voice just a little, he said, "I'll be sure to go slow, so you can take it all in."

She thought maybe her heart stopped, and was positive there was a vibrant flare in her cheeks at his words. He . . . he could not  _possibly_ have meant those words as they sounded.

Yet, in response to the color in her face and the way her jaw fell, Sirius only winked once more and relinquished his hold on her.

As Harry and Pansy guided her to her seat, Hermione was little relieved that she could not see past them to look at Sirius again before she was in her seat. There was something in those familiar eyes of his as he'd made that  _possible_  double entendre just now that was not familiar, at all.

After settling at a desk between Harry and Pansy, Hermione forced herself to focus on the lesson. A task which involved ignoring the way Sirius' gaze would occasionally flick over to capture hers . . .  _and_  ignoring the way those fleeting looks would cause her pulse to thud wildly beneath her skin.

First Lucius with his joking and his unbearably pleasant warmth, then Severus—Oh, dear God! Mr. Malfoy and Professor Snape! Why could she not call them by their proper, formal names?!—with this sense of familiarity between them. Now Sirius was _flirting_  with her?

Hermione bit her lip as she sank back in her seat. She was upset with herself that she had to _try_ to concentrate on what Sirius Black was saying; that not getting lost in the sound of his voice as he spoke was an effort.

At this rate, the words  _Oh, bollocks!_  were going to end up etched across her gravestone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Hermione spent the remainder of the day quiet. She listened and noted, and took stock of everything she did not recall, or that was  _different_  than what she recalled. Still, she refused to mention to anyone precisely how different her memories were—after all, if she was wise enough at thirteen to know Harry could not let on that he thought he was hearing voices, she was  _more_ than wise enough at nineteen to refrain from telling anyone she remembered an entire war that had apparently never taken place.

There were many things which were the same. Professor McGonagall was Headmistress, Hermione and Harry were friends with Dean, Seamus, and Neville. Hagrid was still the Keeper of Keys and Grounds.

Then, the things which were similar-yet-not. Dumbledore had still passed away, succumbing to the illness which would have taken him, had Severus not done it. The House tables in the Great Hall were in the same places . . . not that anyone seemed to mind that no one adhered to which tables were which if their friends were sitting somewhere else.

And, of course, the completely different. The Weasleys did not even live in Britain! When Hermione had inquired about Ginny, as Ron had not returned to complete his education, anyway, so his absence was not new—using her supposed amnesia as a cover—she was informed they'd only met the Weasley siblings last year. They'd accompanied their brother Charlie from Romania when he was assisting in the oversight of the dragon colony.

She didn't know if she wanted to laugh or cry when she was told how little interest she'd had in Ron's pursuit of her. Apparently, she'd sent the message that she would not give him the time of day by snogging Charlie in front of the entire school.

Somehow  _more_  eye-opening, still, was when Luna bounced over to their table. She kissed a giggling Pansy square on the mouth, then kissed Harry, before dropping herself to sit between them.

Fighting hard to keep her shock from showing on her face, Hermione cast a glance about their friends. No one seemed surprised by this—no one stared, or dropped their jaw, no one's spoon fell into their soup—though, the boys did make a few tawdry comments, that Hermione could guess were commonplace, based on how both Pansy and Luna rolled their eyes.

After lunch, she crossed paths in the corridor with the Creevey brothers.

She tried not to register that Colin and Dennis received the same treatment as she and Justin had. It was mindboggling. The only thing she was positive they all had in common was that they were Muggle-borns. Well, _that_  could not be the cause of such fuss, surely.

As her  _appointment_  with Severus . . . with Professor Snape drew near, she found herself making a point to watch the other students she knew for certain were also Muggle-born. Whether because she was truly puzzling over this issue, or because the more she thought about taking a trip to Diagon Alley, _alone_ , with Severus Snape, the more nervous she got about the idea, she wasn't even certain.

Once again, she noticed the same low-key celebrity treatment.

_Remarkable._  Though, she still could not quite believe the evidence before her own eyes. There  _had_  to be some other reason of which she was unaware. Perhaps she could similarly use her amnesia to ask Sev— _Snape,_  ask Professor Snape—about this phenomenon.

Good Lord, why did she keep slipping on his name like that? Worse, why on earth did that nervousness in the pit of her stomach feel dangerously close to butterflies?

Finally, the end of the day rolled around, and Hermione, after asking Harry to take her school things to Gryffindor tower, ran to the girls' room straight from her last class. Finding the place blessedly empty, she closed the door and pressed her back to it, focusing on her breathing for a long while.

She was so turned upside down by all this. Everything around her felt real, but her _wrong_  memories felt real, too.

She'd known from the way Professor Snape had spoken to her that they were more to one another than student and teacher. But . . . were they friends? Confidants? She dreaded to wonder if they were more than  _that_ , even.

Strangely, that dread was not for the same reason as it once might've been. She was certain she should feel panicked over the idea of something more between herself and Severus Snape, or at least over the idea she was in a position to consider there could be anything  _questionable_ between herself and a teacher.

No, instead, it seemed the sensation was firmly rooted in the simple fact that she could not recall what they were to one another.

"Not so bad, Hermione, maybe . . . maybe you're just friends. Like—like you and Sirius!" Oh, that did _not_  help, either. Not with Sirius' sudden flare for innuendo around her, or the way his blue-grey gaze had kept landing on her—and  _lingering—_ during his lesson.

Exhaling a trembling breath, she waved her hands in front of her face. She was surprised she'd made it through the class without her cheeks erupting in flames from how hard she was blushing.

"Oh, for pity's sake!" she railed at herself, stomping over to the nearest sink. Switching on the tap, she waited for the stream to get nice and cold before splashing some water on her face.

Switching it off, again, she rested her elbows on the edge of the sink and simply left her face in her damp hands. Drawing a deep breath and letting it out slow, she straightened up and faced her reflection. She'd not really looked at herself all day, today. Each time she'd had to use the toilet, she'd simple run in, done her business, washed her hands without looking up, and run out, again.

She supposed she'd been afraid to look in the mirror, afraid to see if even her own face was different than she remembered. Blessedly, it was not.

Yet, as she reached for something to dry her face, the open collar of her school blouse shifted with the motion. Silver glinted at her from just below her collar bone.

Frowning, she pulled open her shirt to get a better look. A silver serpent, artfully twisted into a figure-eight, hung from a delicate chain.

So . . . she might have a  _close_  relationship with her Slytherin professor . . . . And she was wearing a snake necklace.

It was a wonder her legs didn't give out from under her as she realized she'd taken far too long, already, and forced herself to start for the classroom of said Slytherin professor.

The trek from the girls' room on the first floor up to where he waited on the second seemed like the longest walk Hermione'd ever taken in her life. As she neared the room, she found the door open a jar.

"This is a bad time, Lucius."

She stopped short, unable to help herself. She knew she should simply open the door wide, announcing her presence with the action. Yet, she could not.

"I know. I hear you're taking her wand shopping?"

"Yes, a trip for which she will arrive any moment. Now, if you would kindly—"

"Keep a close eye on her today, Severus."

Lucius sounded . . . genuinely concerned. She would  _never_ get used to this. Hermione could not stop herself from leaning to peek inside, then.

Severus— _no, Professor_ — _oh, never bloody mind!_ —darted his gaze about as his brows pinched together. "You really thought you _needed_  to come here to tell me that? Of  _course_  she will have my undivided attention."

The pale-haired wizard held up a placating hand. "I am not only speaking of her memory loss, Severus. We don't know what the bloody hell she was doing down there— _she_  doesn't know what she was doing down there. Listen carefully to everything she says, she may remember more than she realizes."

Hermione chewed her lip as she watched the interaction. Severus' face was twisted up in an exasperated expression, but he remained silent. If she didn't know any better, she'd think he didn't like the idea of having to scrutinize her so.

Lucius let out a low, rumbling sigh and clapped the other man on the shoulder. "The sooner we figure out what she was up to down in the tunnels, the sooner we can help her."

Severus looked genuinely distressed, much to her shock, as he gave a reluctant nod.

Finally, she could take no more lurking, after a few heartbeats—just enough time that it could seem she'd not overheard them—she raised her hand to knock. When the contact of her knuckles against the wood pushed the door wider, she forced herself to look surprised that she was intruding on the wizards.

"I'm, um, I'm sorry," she said, as they both turned their attention to her. "Am I interrupting something? I thought—"

"It's fine, da—Hermio—Miss Granger," Severus—in a very un-Severus-Snape way—fumbled. That he wasn't entirely certain how to address her was obvious . . . .

That it had sounded as though he was going to call her  _darling_  shot her heart into her throat.

Swallowing hard, she glanced at Lucius. He appeared amused by his friend's verbal stumbling, and possibly a bit abashed on Severus' behalf. Well, she supposed it was nice to see they were _genuinely_ friends, despite how their somewhat-warm relationship contradicted the dynamic she seemed to recall between them.

But, what Lucius did  _not_ appear was surprised. It could only mean that Severus did not often regard as her  _Miss Granger_  outside of class. He was only doing so because of her behavior toward him earlier.

She just barely kept herself from acknowledging that it was sweet that he would force himself to address her formally so as not to make her uncomfortable in her current condition.

"Lucius was just reminding me that you probably still need rest after your head trauma, so I should not keep you away from school longer than necessary."

Frowning thoughtfully, Hermione nodded. Had that part of the conversation happened before she happened upon them, or was he lying to her? And if he was lying, that begged the question of what they  _thought_ she'd been up to down in those tunnels, if they did not want to mention it to her?

"Yes, how are you feeling, by the way, Miss Granger?"

She forced a small grin as turned her head to meet Lucius Malfoy's gaze. "I'm all right, I think. Still a bit out of sorts, but I'm managing."

"And the memory loss? Anything coming back to you?"

Hermione glanced as Severus. He was trying not to make it obvious that he was watching her intently as they both awaited her answer.

Really, what  _could_  she have been doing down there? Was there something  _in_  those tunnels she didn't know about, but that they did?

"Well," she started, clearing her throat. "Not, um, not exactly, but . . . I  _remember_  plenty, just . . . the circumstances are fuzzy. I can only assume that, as you said, I must've dreamed things while I was unconscious that have me confused." Yes, that was right. He—a medical professional—had given her a logical explanation for her state, and she was certain, for all the things of which she was  _un_ certain, that she was one who relied on logic.

"Perhaps it is too soon to hope for good news. I will leave you two to your trip, then." With a nod of his head, Lucius swept from the room.  _That_  sort of flourish certainly seemed familiar.

It was only as she watched the other wizard disappear through the door that she thought to ask as she turned to look at Severus. "How will we be traveling to Olivander's?"

With a flourish that put the one Lucius had just exhibited to shame, Severus grabbed up his cloak and whirled it onto his shoulders. "The Express will have us out longer than is probably good for you, so we'll Apparate there from the boundary of the castle grounds. I apologize that we'll have to stop a few more times along the way than would be typical."

The distance from Hogwarts to Diagon Alley was impressive, she was already aware that stopping at mid-points at least once or twice was optimal for safe, uninjured, arrival. She couldn't think of why they'd need to stop more than that.

And then she rolled her eyes at her own thick-headedness. "Because of my head trauma, right, okay."

Severus nodded and started for the door. Hermione got the distinct impression as she felt into step beside him that he'd only barely refrained from taking her arm . . . . As though such a gesture was habit.

Just as they stepped into the corridor, she recalled that the very purpose of the journey was to secure her a wand. She could not Apparate by herself without one. That meant Severus would have to take her side-along.

Swallowing hard, she tried to will her cheeks not to warm at the idea of  _this_  Severus Snape draping an arm around her and pulling her close to transport them both across the British Isles. Of course, that was ridiculous—he would not need to do anything more than take her hands.

So why, then, was such an embrace the first image that had come to her mind?

* * *

Much to her relief, Severus had, indeed, only grasped her hand to take her side-along. What she didn't find a relief was that she could not be certain if she was happy, or upset, with his decision. She also could not be certain if his reluctance to  _only_  take her by the hand was an actual feeling of his, or a work of her imagination.

Diagon Alley looked much the same as it had before the events of the War in her head had taken place. Flourish and Blotts was exactly in the same place, Fortescue's Ice Cream Shop, too. Even the wall that led to the Leaky Cauldron.

The mouth to Knockturn Alley was . . . .  _Blocked off?_

She couldn't help but stare down the dark and twisted side street as Severus pulled her along by the hand. Certainly Knockturn Alley's establishments had been abandoned in her memories, but if that War which had caused that had never happened . . . ?

Severus was immediately troubled by the direction of her gaze. "H—Miss Granger, something the matter?"

Hermione glanced from him, to the alleyway, and back. Now was as good a time as any to play the amnesia card, she supposed. "I just don't remember why that place is closed off. Did something happen there?"

He sighed and then pursed his lips. Clearly, this was not a topic he liked very much. "After Voldemort murdered Lily and James . . . . The upheaval in Wizarding Britain, with so many scrambling to disconnect themselves from his machinations after his death, Knockturn Alley was simply abandoned. Seemingly overnight, damnedest thing. No one enters that place, too many dark things were created there. There isn't a single witch or wizard who wants to risk accidentally triggering some terrible artifact for the sake of sating curiosity."

Quite without her leave, her head turned, her gaze falling unerringly on the entrance to Knockturn Alley, again, even as they moved away from it.

A hand on her jaw drew her from whatever her reverie might've been. She found herself meeting Severus' gaze as he forced her chin away from the offending passageway.

She only belatedly noticed they'd stopped walking and forced a gulp down her throat.

" _Not_  worth sating curiosity," he reiterated.

Well, he _did_  know her. Blinking rapidly a few times, she shook her head. "Of course not."

Nodding in response, he relinquished his grip and started them walking, once more.

Yet, after only another meter, or so, Hermione inadvertently tugged him to a stop. How . . . girlish that a pretty bauble in a shop window should catch her eye, but there it was.

She could not help the way her gaze traced over the patterned slice of silver, topped with a perfect and glittering princess-cut gemstone. She could not recall caring much for such trinkets, and yet, she was utterly in love with that necklace.

"Miss Granger?"

Tearing her gaze away from the shop window, she gave herself a shake. "Sorry. Olivander's, right over there," she said, pointing, as though he didn't know their destination.

Severus nodded, guiding her toward the wand shop, now. He was certain she did not notice the way glanced back to see what had struck her so.

Hermione was more comforted than she'd been all day to find that Olivander's looked much the same as it had when she'd first set foot there as a child. Mr. Olivander, too, looked just as she remembered, with his kind, but wild eyes, and even wilder hair.

When he seemed certain she was settled and at ease around the elder wizard, Severus excused himself to run a quick errand.

She  _felt_ like a child, again, combing through boxes with Mr. Olivander until the one that spoke to her was uncovered. Though, it was a bit heart wrenching of a process, as the wandmaker confirmed that a new wand would only chose her if her former was no more.

Wherever her old wand was, whoever had taken it, it had been destroyed.

Her new wand was elegant, and she supposed as long as it served its purpose, its needlessly pretty form was fine. Ten inches, acacia, with a dragon heartstring core—like her old one—and artfully curved, like something one might imagine a fairy queen to wield.

When Severus returned, Mr. Olivander was just putting the wand box into a neat black shopping bag for Hermione.

Unable to help a smirk, he glanced about the shop. "I see no evidence of destruction. I take it the search went smoothly?"

Hermione shot him a withering glare before she caught herself. She could not help but notice that, even with her willful reluctance about the matter, there _was_  a strange comfort level between her and this Severus.

"Yes, actually," the elder wizard said with a nod and a gentle grin. "I suspect, because Miss Granger is older, now, and her style of spell-casting has become so refined, an acacia wand chose her. Temperamental though they are, they are endlessly loyal wands. A match to any other in means of power, as well."

Her brow furrowed. "What do you mean? Endlessly loyal?"

"Acacia wands are very tricky to manage, partly because they will only obey the command of their owner. In a pinch, you would not be able to hand it off to a disarmed witch or wizard and expect it to work for them, as you could a wand made from any other wood. There are, in fact, very few acacia wands in any wand maker's collection because of their peculiar nature." Mr. Olivander handed her the bag, his smile broadening. "I know you will treat it well. Good to see you again, Miss Granger."

Hermione and Severus bid Mr. Olivander farewell and exited the shop. As they made their way back to the Apparition point, Severus seemed a bit edgy about something. She was certain it  _must_  be her imagination, then.

"Miss Granger," he started as they continued along, his free hand fussing in the pocket of his cloak. "I understand things are . . . odd, at the moment. I don't mean to make matters more strained from you, but I have something for you."

Her brows pinched together. "For me?"

He nodded. "I had intended to get something  _before_  yesterday, but—"

"Yesterday?" She hadn't wanted to interrupt, but she could not help herself—the insinuation was something beyond her capacity for belief. "Have you gotten me a birthday present?"

His dark brows arched upward. "I have, in fact. Is . . . is that all right?"

Forcing a gulp down her throat, she nodded. Never in her wildest dreams did she think she'd be on a  _stroll_ , anywhere, with Severus Snape, and he'd have gotten her a gift for any reason!

"I suppose it is," she said, unable to help a small grin curving her lips.

He let out a sigh, just a little puff of breath that made her think some anxiety had drained out of him at her answer. "Well, I—"

"Professor Snape! Miss Granger!"

The pair looked up at the familiar voice of Tom, the proprietor of The Leaky Cauldron calling to them. A wide smile split the wizard's face as he waved at them.

He was clearly headed back ther from running errands as he neared them. "Will you two be taking your usual ro—?"

"No!" Severus cut him off, wide-eyed.

Hermione thought her heart was going to stop in her chest. Had . . . had Tom just asked if they'd be taking their  _usual room?!_

Tom looked taken aback by the other wizard snapping at him. "Sorry, you're clearly in—in the middle of something. I'll let you be on your way."

She was so stunned by the incident, she did not even feel it when Severus pulled her into step half-a-pace behind him. As they rounded the corner to the Apparition point, she finally managed to find her voice.

"What was that about?"

He shook his head. "Probably something best left for when your memories return."

Hermione clenched her teeth in a fierce expression as she whirled around him, forcing him to meet her gaze. "No, don't! I have had the most confusing day in the entire world, and I just want someone to tell me, clearly, to my face, in no  _un_ certain terms, what the bloody hell is happening!"

Her flash of irritation sparked his own, despite his obvious attempts to deal with her so carefully prior to this moment. Severus made that sneering expression she recognized as one hundred percent Severus Snape, even with this new and different face. "Oh, really? And what,  _precisely,_ would you like me to tell you in no uncertain terms?!"

Damn. She'd really put her foot in it just now, hadn't she? But she could  _not_  turn back; she couldn't  _un_ say what she'd just said. And . . . bugger it all, there was  _so_ much tension coursing between them so fast that she couldn't  _not_  continue on and see where this led.

"Tell me what we are to each other," she said, wondering why her voice had spilled out in a breathless whisper.

His expression softened, but only a little as he asked, "Are you so sure you want me to tell you that?"

_Not even remotely._  "Yes!"

Faster than she could blink, he wrapped an arm around her and covered her mouth with his own. She shuddered in his embrace as he stole the breath right out of her. She should be pulling away, protesting, scrambling to get out of his hold.

Instead, she slid her arms around his neck and stood on her toes to press tight against him. She lost herself in the feel of his tongue plunging into her mouth to caress hers.

After how long, she couldn't be sure, he broke the kiss, pulling back enough as they caught their breath to meet her gaze. "Again, I ask . . . are you so sure you want me to  _tell_ you?"

Although she had a  _pretty_  good idea what they were to one another, now, she was positive she was not ready for what he was implying. Though, the thought of him  _showing_  her what they were to each other was suddenly wildly appealing.

"Actually, I think . . . ." She swallowed hard as she nodded. "I think I may need some time with this."

Nodding, himself, in response, he released her and stepped back. "As I thought."

* * *

Neither spoke as they made their way back to Hogwarts. Indeed, even as they wound their way through the castle, and he escorted her to the entrance of Gryffindor tower, they were silent.

As he was about to walk away, he caught her gaze. For a breathless moment, she only stared back at him.

His features pinched in what was almost a sour look before he managed to tear his attention from her. Holding in a sigh, he started back the way they'd come.

She watched him disappear into the depths of the castle before she retreated into the tower. Hermione counted her blessings Harry had given her the password in case her condition had caused her to forget.

Up in her dorm room, she was surprised to find herself in pleasant conversation with Parvati, Romilda, and Faye. As she sat on her bed, she opened the bag from Olivander's to remove her lovely new wand . . . . Only to find the wand box was not the only thing in the bag.

Pursing her lips, Hermione pulled out the smaller box. Shoulders drooping a bit, she had a pretty good idea what was in there.

"What's that, then?" Romilda asked, ever the nosy one.

Opening it, Hermione found her suspicions confirmed as that perfect and glittering princess-cut gemstone winked back at her from atop that slice of patterned silver. There went those damned butterflies again.

_I had intended to get something_ before _yesterday . . . ._ He must've slipped it into the shopping bag while they were Apparating back. Upon first arriving in Diagon Alley, they'd agreed it best she travel side-along back to the castle, as well, due to her head injury. He'd known she wouldn't have reason to look inside the bag until she was in her room.

Even with the way things had just gone horribly awry, he'd still wanted her to have it.

Forcing a gulp down her throat as she tried to control the rapid beating of her heart, Hermione said in an awed whisper, "A birthday present."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

_She sat up, fumbling in the near-blackness . . . . She groped and searched for her wand, grasping it in trembling fingers._

_"Lumos." Her voice was weak, shaking as bad as her hand, and the spark of illumination from the tip of her wand reflected the lack of power in her command._

_Blinking hard to clear her blurring vision, she looked about. A tunnel . . . where was she? Why was she here? Hadn't she been . . . ? The weak light glinted off something nearby and she turned her attention to it._

_There, buried within the impossibly dark grey stone of the wall in front of her, silver gleamed. Ancient and ornate. She recalled the emblem before her eyes from_ somewhere _, she was certain of it, she simply couldn't place it._

_Chewing at her bottom lip, she reached her free hand into the crevice to grab it . . . to even just touch it and assure herself she was really seeing it._

_That was when her wand's light dimmed and she realized . . . ._

_She was_ not _in that tunnel alone._

* * *

Hermione shot up in bed, gasping for air. Darting her gaze about the dark, familiar shapes of her dormitory room in the tower, she realized that was  _not_  a nightmare.

She'd just remembered something. Some fleeting glimpse of the moments between bumping her head and being found.

Of having her wand  _and_  someone with her, despite that she'd been discovered alone and wand _less_.

If only she could remember who'd been—

"Hermione? Hermione!"

She looked about in a daze, unsettled by the panic in Romilda's voice. Though she was managing to get her bearings, all three of her roommates were out of their beds and crowding around her, fast.

They misinterpreted her panic, she thought, because they all looked horror-stricken. They appeared beside themselves with worry, and she could not understand their concern. Her uncertainty was disorienting, and it detracted from her attempt to get a hold of herself.

Romilda sat beside her, grasping one of Hermione's trembling hands between both of her own as she snapped an order at Faye. "She's had another one of her nightmares. Go fetch Severus and Healer Malfoy,  _now_!"

The command only unsettled Hermione, further. She barely noticed that Faye was out the door in a blink.

She had nightmares so severe the school Healer  _and_  her—boyfriend? Lover? Whatever Severus Snape was to her—had to be called?

As she gaped around at Parvati and Romilda, she realized there was a time she would have been concerned that not only was she involved in relationship with a teacher, but that everyone seemed to know about, and accept, it. Now—despite that what she'd just been ripped from was  _no_ dream—she could only wonder  _just_  how terrible these nightmares she was clearly prone to could be.

* * *

"I saw something down there," Hermione finally said a short while later, after Lucius had come and escorted her to the hospital wing, and she was alone with him and Severus.

Severus had made quite the entrance only moments after Lucius had Hermione settled and was checking her over. The dark-haired wizard barreled through the doors. When she lifted her gaze to meet his, her eyes wide at the commotion he was able to create single-handedly, he managed to catch himself.

He slowed in mid-stride, proceeding to her bedside on measured steps. While she was still unsettled by their . . .  _dynamic_ , she almost felt bad that he had to keep his actions so tightly reined around her, now. He was being so careful of everything he did around her that she thought simply being in the room with her might be a pained and difficult thing for him.

She couldn't help but notice the sleeves of his black silk nightclothes were pushed up to bunch around his elbows. Hermione's gaze wandered the length of his left forearm quite of its own volition. She wasn't certain why she was surprised to see there was no Dark Mark there—if Voldemort had truly died after killing James and Lily, then those magical tattoos would have faded, eventually vanishing.

A near two decades was certainly enough time for the Marks to have faded, entirely.

Luckily, neither of the wizards with her seemed to notice the moment of scrutiny. She didn't want to have to explain what she thought was supposed to be there.

After a bit of fidgeting in place and demanding Lucius hurry up with the examination, so they could  _know_ she was all right, Severus finally pulled the nearest chair close and took a seat. He seemed so wretchedly nervous . . . and she could not help but wonder if her current unfamiliarity with him—with  _them_ and what they were to one another—was a component in that.

This was Severus Snape, she reminded herself. Yet, even  _with_  that reminder, she felt the need to ease some of his very apparent anxiety.

He started at the touch of her hand on his. Swallowing hard, he lifted his gaze to hers.

Hermione offered him a small, uncertain smile as she shrugged. When he more firmly took her hand in his, she did not pull away, but she was surprised to find herself comforted by the simple skin-to-skin contact with him.

That was when she told them. She understood now that whatever her misgivings were, they were not rooted in the men sitting before her. She could see how genuine their concern for her was—indeed, that Lucius had just barely refrained from pulling her in for a hug when he'd gotten to her room was telling of a closeness that, though she could not remember, was worthy of more than her shying away from their worry.

The wizards exchanged a troubled glance. "What do you mean?" Severus asked. "Down where?"

"In the tunnels," she said, her voice impossibly low. She flicked her gaze from Severus, to Lucius, and back. "That wasn't a nightmare, I was remembering what happened before I was found. It was only a little bit, though. Just a few seconds, really."

Sitting back from his scans, Lucius spared a moment to give Severus an  _all-clear_  nod. "What did you see?"

"I don't remember, exactly, but it was an emblem, or a seal, maybe? Tucked away, deep inside the wall."

She did not like the look the two shared at that. "What? What is that? What don't I know?"

"That's just it, Hermione," Severus said with a shake of his head, clearly forgetting all his prior efforts to address her formally. "We don't  _know_  what's down there. No one does."

"There's been rumors for centuries, of course," Lucius continued, his gaze darting about the hospital wing. "All manner of different magical items are _supposed_  to be hidden beneath the castle, but no one has ever been willing to risk triggering anything down there that might be Dark, that might damage the school, or harm the students."

"That's why you're so worried about what I was doing down there?"

Lucius shrugged. "Even if the rumors are untrue, those tunnels are  _hardly_  safe passage. When you were found, it seemed a blessing you  _only_ came away with a bump on the head."

Severus smirked, in spite of himself. "After all this fuss, I bet you are absolutely kicking yourself for not being able to recall what you saw down there."

Hermione bit her lip, unable to help mirroring his expression. This Severus . . . he really _did_ know her, she thought. Again. Really, this simply cemented her first inkling of how familiar he truly was with her during their earlier excursion to Diagon Alley.

But then, the mirthful twist of her lips faded.

Severus' brow furrowed. "What is it?"

"Someone  _knows_ what's down there." Forcing a gulp down her throat, she nodded, a cold sense of certainty uncoiling in the pit of her stomach. "Someone saw whatever it was I saw."

Lucius was inching closer to her as he waited for her to elaborate, without realizing he was even moving. When she offered nothing further, he asked, "How do you know?"

She shook her head. "Because I wasn't alone, I could feel it. Someone was there with me. I don't remember who, or if we were down there together looking for I can't imagine what, but I _know_  they were there. I know whoever that was is the same person who stole my wand."

Severus looked as though his heart had stopped. His eyes had shot wide, and they were suspiciously damp, though she could tell those were tears of rage welling. It was in the way his lips pulled back in a calculated sneer and the veins in his neck stood out, suddenly.

Lucius noticed, as well, his own eyes going wide at his friend's response. "Now, Severus . . .  _breathe_  . . . ."

The dark-haired wizard turned that wrathful look on Lucius. "Do you not understand what could have happened? Wounded, unconscious, and unprotected? Whoever they are, they left her to  _die_!"

His words sent a shockwave through Hermione. She reflexively gripped his hand tighter, drawing his irate gaze to her. That angry expression immediately softened at the worry in her face.

"Someone . . . you think someone actually meant to kill me?"

"I think the only reason we found you down there was your recent fascination with those stupid tunnels," he said in a hissing whisper. "You were nowhere to be found this morning. Had we not thought to search there when you did not show up for your morning classes . . . ."

He was really so worried for her . . . . Before she even realized she was speaking, she said, "I'm so sorry I scared you this way."

_You just apologized to_  Snape _. What is happening?!_

Severus merely held her gaze for a handful of silent heartbeats.

Lucius cleared his throat, reminding the pair of his presence. "Severus and I will discuss this matter with Minerva tomorrow. If someone did this to you, she'll want to investigate the matter, immediately. I would like you to remain here, at least until morning. Severus, you are, of course, welcome to stay.  _If_ she gets rest, you may escort her back to Gryffindor tower so that she can prepare for classes."

Hermione seemed troubled by the hinting that she might not be allowed to attend her lessons in the morning. "And if I don't?"

Lucius smirked at her feisty tone. "Then you won't be leaving that bed. Not until you've had a solid four-to-six hours of sleep. No arguments!"

To her surprise, he leaned close, slipping a hand around the back of her neck beneath her hair. He pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead—which she thought might've gone on longer, had Severus not made an impatient rumbling noise.

With a snicker, Lucius pulled back. The skin of her neck was pleasantly warm in the wake of his touch.

"I will go prepare a sedative to help ease you into a natural sleep. Your nerves are probably a bit raw after the day you've had."

She nodded, grateful for his understanding, but a bit taken aback by the intimacy in his gesture.

Severus was quiet as they waited for Lucius to return. Hermione tried not to think on who it had been with her in the tunnels—she did not want to believe someone could leave her like that purposefully.

After she took the sedative and settled back in the bed, Lucius had gone back to the healer's quarters, adjacent to the hospital. Severus simply sat in that chair, holding her hand and watching her as she drifted off.

* * *

"I still don't remember anything more than what I already told you, if that's what you're asking," she said the next morning as Severus guided her by the hand through the corridors of the school.

Gratefully, a house elf had brought her and Severus a quick bite while she was still in the hospital. The rest of the students and faculty were currently at breakfast in the Great Hall, so no one was about to see  _Professor Snape_  walking with her as she wore nothing but her nightclothes.

"No, no." He uttered a quiet chuckle. "I don't think I'm prepared to discuss that, again. I like to keep control of my temper, when possible."

"Oh!" She blinked rapidly a few times as they started climbing the staircase. "You mean do I remember . . . ? No, I'm sorry. I still don't quite remember . . . _us_."

He nodded, though a sigh rumbled out of him. "Then I shall be patient. God, you are ruining me."

Hermione let out a scoffing sound, but as she meant to respond, a familiar voice called her.

"There you are!" Sirius was rushing up the stairs toward them.

She thought for certain Severus' hackles would go up at the other man's mere presence. Yet, when she glanced at him, Severus only granted Sirius a tired roll of his eyes.

"I heard you had one of your nightmares. Are you all—?" Catching himself, with his knowledge of Hermione's ability to downplay dangers to her own well-being, Sirius turned his attention to Severus, instead. "Is she all right?"

Severus tutted thoughtfully for a moment. "Stubborn, petulant, snarky . . . . Yes, I'd say she's her usual self."

Sirius cracked a grin at the way she uttered a second scoffing noise.

"Oh, you two just think you're so funny . . . . "

"Since your memory is currently impaired," Sirius said, placing a hand on her arm. She found it odd that her irritation with them was diffused almost instantly at his touch. "I had wanted to remind you about this weekend."

Her brow furrowed. "This weekend?"

He nodded slow as he held her gaze. "No Hogsmeade? Celebrating your birthday at Grimmauld Place?"

She only went wide-eyed, her jaw dropping as she scrambled for something to say.

"Honestly, throw her the biggest party in the Wizarding world every year, and she manages to forget."

Severus caught the other man's attention from the corner of his eye. "I need to speak with you later, by the way."

Something unspoken passed between the two as Sirius nodded. "Right, okay. Hermione, I will see you in class this afternoon." He darted close, dropping a kiss so far back on her cheek that his lips brushed the lobe of her ear.

She nearly thought it an accident—a sweet, shiver-inducing accident—but then he winked at her as he pulled away. She couldn't be certain if Severus had witnessed it, or not, but it seemed as though Sirius would have done that, either way.

Then, he spun on his heel and started right back down the staircase, leaving them alone.

Hermione and Severus continued on to the portrait opening. "God, he's insufferable," he said in an irritated murmur, his head shaking.

She bit her lip to hold in a laugh at his discomfort. Though, she could not be certain now whether Sirius had been so affectionate just then for her sake, or for Severus'.

They were silent until they reached the tower entrance. Just as he had released her hand, clearly restraining himself from whatever their typical parting ritual was, Hermione spoke up, stopping him as he was about to turn away.

"Sev—Severus?"

Startled at hearing her address him informally—albeit pleasantly so—he paused, mid-motion. "Yes?"

"I, um . . . ." Swallowing hard, she gave a quick shake of her head. "I wanted to say thank you for my present. I didn't expect—"

"I know." A small smile played on his lips. "And you are welcome."

She surprised him, again, by bouncing up on her toes to plant a kiss on his cheek. Though she suspected this was probably a ridiculously modest gesture between them, he seemed thrilled by it, under the circumstances.

That small smile widening, he finally turned away and started down the staircase.

* * *

Hermione found the peace and quiet of the empty tower blissful. Absolutely lovely, as she opened her trunk and started pulling out items to wash up and dress for the day.

She wondered . . . should she wear her gift from Severus? She still wasn't certain what the bloody hell was going on, but she thought that—with a few glaring exceptions—she was starting to like this better than the hard, sad, war-torn past she seemed to recall.

One of her shoes fell from her hand and into the trunk. The noise the sole made as it struck the bottom was unexpected. A dull, hollow thud.

Hermione set down her things on the floor beside her, her brow furrowing. Her trunk did not have a false bottom, but she could not explain that sound just now, otherwise.

An anxious ripple coursed about in the pit of her stomach as she hurriedly pulled the rest of her things from the trunk. Though she knew well she was alone, she could not help casting a cursory glance about the room.

Forcing a gulp down her throat, she traced along the bottom of the trunk, looking a switch, a latch, anything. As she pressed her fingers along the back, a panel in the center popped up.

Something wrapped in a black cloth rested inside. She had the strangest sick feeling that she'd left something for herself. Had she somehow known this whatever it was with her memories was going to happen?

Extracting the item with trembling fingers, she carefully unwrapped it.

"Oh, God, no," she said in a shivering whisper at the silver mask in her hands. A Death Eater mask? In her trunk?

Only . . . . Oh,  _no_ , this could not be! The pattern on the mask resembled the pattern of wood on her original wand.

Every mask was unique, she knew, detailed and fitted for their individual wearer. Still, she felt there  _must_  be a mistake!

Her heart felt cold in her chest as she lifted the mask. She didn't want it anywhere near her, but she  _had_  to know.

Hermione closed her eyes as she pressed the cold silver to her face . . . . It fit perfectly.

Dropping the mask, she clamped her hands over her mouth. A belated sob tore from her throat as she watched it hit the floor.

She'd just found a Death Eater mask hidden among her things . . . . And it was  _hers_.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Hermione was a nervous wreck all day following her discovery of that mask in her trunk. She'd just as quickly stuffed it back into its hiding place, but then she's examined every other thing she owned, searching for some further clue about it.

Nothing. Well, she did learn she had somewhat more risqué wardrobe tastes in her non-school attire than she recalled, but she thought with her relationships being a bit on the hazy side in her memory, there was every chance she dressed so for the purpose of giving the three men who seemed so intent on her attentions an eyeful for their efforts.

It was almost a mechanical motion as she slipped on the necklace from Severus. The chain was shorter than the twisted serpent's, the pretty slice of silver resting just below her collarbones, so that the two necklaces appeared to compliment one another.

She'd dressed for school in a rush, piling her hair into an untidy bun atop her head, and hurrying to her first class.

Every person who glanced in her direction, she scrutinized. Every word spoken around her, she listened to, weighed, and evaluated. In every single interaction, she looked for some telling thing that might clue her in to what  _she_  was doing in possession of a bloody Death Eater mask.

Again, she found nothing. Other than the same sorts of eye-opening events she'd already been witness to yesterday—was it really only yesterday?—so, really, they weren't even that shocking, today. She knew Severus was watching her throughout DADA class, but he looked worn. She found herself sincerely worrying that he'd not had the chance to rest after watching over her in the hospital wing last night.

How strange. But then, perhaps it wasn't strange at all. She could tell from how he was around her that he cared for her deeply, even if she couldn't remember much—or anything, really—of their relationship. Perhaps with so much having happened between them in the last twenty four hours, so many opportunities for her to see examples of his feelings with her own eyes, she couldn't help but feel something toward him, in return.

After class, she had no chance to talk to him, however, as Neville had claimed Severus' attention to ask about an assignment.

She only noticed how wrapped up she was in trying to find something amiss to explain her discovery when she was brought out of her reverie, mid-lunch, by Pansy's elbow nudging her side.

"What's wrong with you?"

Hermione frowned as she met the Slytherin witch's gaze. Luna, seated on her girlfriend's opposite side, looked on, as well, her wide, dreamy blue eyes curious. "Nothing, really, I just . . . I was just hoping that when I woke up today, I'd have remembered more. It's still all a blur."

Pansy nodded, a small, sympathetic frown curving her lips as she returned her attention to her meal.

"Lucius said to give it a few days, didn't he?" Harry asked from across the table—Hermione ignored wondering which of his girlfriends he was playing footsie with just now, but someone kept bumping her leg.

She nodded, sighing. That was true, but still, she did not like waiting around to see if she could recall. She wanted to know what was wrong with her memories now! Had some artifact she'd come across in those tunnels given her false recollections?

Or maybe . . . .

No, that was madness. It made more sense that she'd _imagined_  for herself that she'd gotten the lovely knot on her forehead from the library, since she knew she wasn't supposed to be in those tunnels.

But then, shouldn't that have righted itself in her head once she  _recalled_ being in the tunnels? She still remembered that book toppling down on her as though it had really happened. So, perhaps it had, somehow?

It felt like she was two different people. And that was madness, even if it seemed the only explanation.

But Hermione was nothing if not pragmatic. She would wait. She would bide her time until these days passed, and hope something less mad, but probably less practical, popped up to explain the disparities between her memories and reality.

* * *

"Miss Granger?" Sirius called as class was dismissed.

Hermione glanced at Harry as they gathered their things. He shrugged, looking mystified.

"Yes, Professor?"

"A minute, please?"

She nodded, watching from the corner of her eye as Harry and Pansy slipped out the door with the rest of their classmates. Well, there was nothing to be done for it, really. Putting the last of her things away, she shouldered her bag and walked to the front of the room.

He was watching her face rather intently all the while. Finally, he said, "You seem troubled."

Hermione opened her mouth, but just as quickly closed it, again. What could she even say to him? She felt compelled by her familiarity with him to confide in him, yet the absurdity of everything else around her made her question if that was really wise.

Those pretty, blue-grey eyes of his looked pained as he let out a sigh. "You know, you can talk to me, right? I know you're having trouble remembering some things, still, but we're  _more_  than friends, Hermione. You can tell me anything."

She found herself standing just a little straighter as she tried to process his words. "What do you mean  _more_  than friends?"

Sirius' jet brows shot up his forehead. "What do I—?" He searched her gaze for a moment, apparently looking for some sign that she was joking, because the next things he said was, "You're really serious? And,  _no_ , don't laugh at that."

It wasn't even until after he'd told her not to laugh that it occurred to her what was funny in what he'd said. She was _really_  off if she hadn't picked up on such an obvious bit of wordplay.

"Sorry, no. I am a serious, um . . . Sirius."

He held her gaze for a long, painful-seeming moment before his lips twitched and he couldn't help but let out a quiet, irreverent snicker. "Okay, fine, it's funny. But, you really . . . ? I'd thought for sure with that hug yesterday,  _something_  sparked. You really don't remember that we're . . . ."

When a blush flared in her cheeks at what he implied, his jaw dropped.

"Oh, well, now . . . the notion of giving you the same birthday present as last year's just got a  _lot_ more interesting."

"The same as last year's . . . ?" Oh, now she did not need it explained to realize  _that_ was something sexual. That realization, along with the way he'd spoken to her in class yesterday, and how he'd made sure to brush his lips against her ear when he'd kissed her cheek just that morning . . . .

Dear God, was she actually thinking she was one  _lucky_  witch?

But then, she tried, and failed, to wrap her head around the notion, because of Severus, and his attitude when Sirius had come upon them on the staircase. Clearly, the entire school knew of her and Severus, she'd worked that much out, already, after last night's fiasco.

Even so, she couldn't help the dumbfounded question, "Does . . . does Severus know about you and me?"

Again, Sirius' brows shot up. "What sort of absurd question is that? Of course he does."

Hermione thought her legs might go out from under her from the shock. Severus  _and_  Sirius? She was openly involved with _both_ of them?

Then, she thought for certain her knees must've buckled, quite without her notice, as the next thing she knew, Sirius was holding her up with an arm slung around her waist. She lifted her head to meet his gaze, and found him wearing a concerned expression.

"Whoa. Careful, there, little love, you nearly ended up on the floor."

Her brows shot up as she merely blinked at him, processing his words _. Little love?_  Was that his nickname for her? Was it okay for her to think she rather liked the sound of it?

When she didn't answer, his typically, roguishly, cheerful face fell, entirely. "You do look a bit pale. I'm taking you to Lucius."

Sooner than she could find her voice to protest, he was ushering her out of the room and along the corridor. Hermione was surprised by how much she was actually leaning into him as they moved down the closest staircase toward the main floor of the castle.

She noticed the other Muggle-borns were grouped together, a cluster of fan-like activity around them. They didn't appear to be doing anything more than standing around, talking, yet one would think they were accomplishing some terribly difficult and engrossing task from the way the pure-bloods flanking them behaved.

The group glanced up, nearly moving as one, to watch as Hermione was escorted past them. They all looked immediately worried. Justin seemed about to break from the group when Colin put his hand on the older boy's chest.

"Sirius has her, she'll be fine."

She must've been imagining it, she thought, as a flicker of anger seemed to cross Justin's face at the mention of Sirius' name. But he just as quickly turned his attention back to whatever the group was discussing, thoughtlessly tucking a lock of his blond curls behind his ear.

Hermione couldn't pay attention to that just now, anyway. She would turn it over in her head later, if it still bothered her.

Was it really possible this revelation about herself and Sirius was a such a shock to her system that she needed this much assistance? No, no. Even as Sirius pushed open the doors with his free arm, she noted that it was likely only that this particular  _surprise_ compounded all her shocks from yesterday, her less than restorative sleep last night, and the fact that she had suffered head trauma only a little over a day ago.

Lucius and Madam Pomfrey looked up from their respective stations at the front desk as Sirius barreled inside with Hermione in tow.

The medi-witch watched from her post for only a moment, before sighing and shaking her head as she returned to the paperwork before her. "Poor thing can't catch a break, lately."

The pale-haired wizard frowned as he moved around the desk to guide them to one of the beds.

"The bloody hell happened, this time?" Lucius snapped at Sirius while he helped Hermione to sit down.

She watched as Sirius tossed the other man a look and then grabbed him by the elbow and tugged him away a few steps. Lucius, being rather tall, leaned in to listen to something Sirius was whispering.

His grey eyes shooting wide, Lucius Malfoy snapped back up to his full height at whatever information Sirius had just shared. "Oh, well . . . I suppose there go any hopes of her remembering  _me,_  any time soon."

Hermione's brows climbed so high, they nearly hit her hairline. She obviously remembered Lucius, but if he said it in context to what she'd just learned about herself and Sirius . . . ?

"You, too?!"

Both wizards turned to look at the bewildered witch. Sirius folded his lips inward, reluctant to answer. Lucius, by contrast, opened his mouth to reply, but the words never came out, instead, he tipped his head to one side, an awkward half-smile lifting his features.

Her voice dropped to a tiny, confused whisper as she asked in a daze, "Just how many people am I shagging?"

Lucius suddenly seemed distracted by something occurring to him, he waved a dismissive hand at her outburst as he rolled his gaze heavenward in thought. "Oh, do calm yourself, it is  _only_  us and Severus, after all."

When her eyes widened so much at his flippant tone that they appeared in danger of falling from her head, Sirius rushed back to her side. Sitting beside her, he clasped her hands in his, running the pads of his thumbs over the backs of her hands in slow, soothing circles.

_He says it so casually . . . ._ Indeed, Sirius didn't bat an eye at the words, even Madam Pomfrey didn't look up from her work, going on as though she heard more intriguing gossip than this on a regular basis.

Well, suddenly his insistence on assuring Severus that he'd not kept her needlessly late to class yesterday made sense. After all, if Severus had reason to think they were up to . . .  _other_ things, then he would probably assume that was exactly what had happened when he saw Lucius enter the classroom with her tucked under his arm that way.

"There must be some way to gently jog her memory," Lucius said, still in that distracted tone. "I'd hoped that after that first little bit shook loose last night, the rest of it would all come back. Her mind is just as stubborn as she is, I see."

"I am sitting  _right_ here."

Sirius bit back a chuckle at her snippy tone.

"Yes," Lucius said, dropping his attention to her face. "You are, but your typically wonderful brain is a bit useless, as of late, my pet."

Hermione felt a little, butterfly-inducing, thrill zip through her at that.  _My pet?_  Did they each have their own nickname for her? Well, that would make sense, she supposed. She stopped herself just short of wondering what Severus called her in private.

"No, no." She gave a determined shake of her head, even as she found herself more or less melting into Sirius as he continued massaging her hands. "My brain is  _never_  useless. I came across something this morning that I didn't recognize as being mine, and the shock of it should've jarred more memories loose—oh, that is quite lovely—should've perhaps, given me an easier time of it figuring out which memories I might've fabricated, but that didn't happen."

"I know that tone," Sirius said, his eyes on his work as he turned her hands in his to knead her palms with the tips of his fingers. "You've some idea on what the source of your memory troubles might be?"

Hermione's eyes had drifted closed at the gentle, insistent working of Sirius' hands over hers.

Sirius smirked at her sudden inability to focus on the conversation, while Lucius' shoulders drooped.

"Honestly, pet, I know you said his hands are magic, but a tiny measure of concentration on the discussion would be awfully appreciated, just now."

She had no idea when she'd made that remark, but she found she was  _quite_  inclined to agree with herself. And Lucius Malfoy's mildly exasperated tone was . . . actually, it was cute, she thought, hiding an embarrassed smile at the realization.

"Sorry," she said, clearing her throat and peeling herself from Sirius' side to sit straight, though she did not extract her hands from his. "I was simply thinking about what you told me last night, about the tunnels beneath the school? The rumors about there being all sorts of artifacts down there. What if that's true and I happened across something that did this _to_  me?"

Lucius nodded, his expression thoughtful. "That is a possibility I'd not wanted to consider, as there is only  _but_  so much information to be found on the things supposedly down there, but it is certainly plausible."

"So, you'll look into it, then?"

The pale-haired wizard arched a brow, as though in silent reprimand that she felt the need to ask. "Of course! Additionally, Severus and I did speak with Minerva. She is having a tally taken of all students missing from classes yesterday morning, and will be looking into the matter further from there."

Hermione let out a sigh. In all her distraction today, she'd utterly forgotten about that. Perhaps she could do with a little more distraction. Perhaps . . . perhaps she was overreacting to this entire mask situation, as well. Yes, it had the same pattern as her original wand, but with all the unknown things that existed beneath the school, maybe the mask was something she'd found down there. Some charm on it could easily cause its appearance to mirror some aspect of its possessor.

Oh, that . . . that made a strange amount of sense, didn't it?

She wasn't totally sold on that idea, but it  _was_  a possibility, and having even a potential answer was more calming than anything she could have imagined in that moment.

"Are you feeling better, now?"

Hermione shook off her thoughts and looked from Sirius to Lucius, and back. "Um, actually, yes. Much, thank you."

"I think, perhaps, it's best if you retire to your room and rest until classes tomorrow morning." When it seemed she might protest, he shot out his hand, pressing a silencing finger to her lips. "No arguments. I'll see to it one of the elves brings you something to eat. You can see Severus tomorrow, if that's your concern."

It really wasn't, but now that he mentioned it, she found herself hoping Severus would not worry about her. She frowned at the Healer as he let his hand drop back to his side. "But I have assignments."

Both wizards rolled their eyes and shook their heads. "They'll let you slide, I think," Sirius assured her as he helped her to feet.

"See she gets to Gryffindor tower, and rests. No excuses to see her to her  _bed_ , if you don't mind."

Sirius let out an exasperated breath as he nodded. "Fine, but only because _you're_  the medical professional in the room."

"This is going to take some getting used to if I can't get my memories straightened out," she said with a shake of her head as she allowed Sirius to guide her to the doors.

He snickered, an affectionate rumble running beneath his words as he said, "Don't worry, we'll be more than happy to help with recreations, if necessary."

She uttered a scoffing sound, despite the firm knowledge that she was already feeling accustomed to the weight of Sirius' arm as it circled her waist. Yet, as he opened the door for her, they were stopped short by an unexpected presence lingering before the hospital wing's entrance.

Her brow furrowed. "Justin?"

His brown eyes flicked in Sirius' direction, and then past him toward Lucius for only the barest second, before he returned his gaze to Hermione's. "Just wanted to make sure you're all right. The others were worried."

"The oth—?" She cut herself off, realizing he must mean the other Muggle-borns. "That's very sweet of you all to worry. I'll be fine, just need some rest."

Justin's brows shot up at her words. "Very sweet of us to worry? Oh, she really did bonk her head, didn't she?"

Hermione frowned—was she not usually gracious when others showed concern for her? But Sirius laughed.

The dark-haired wizard asked, "You lot will be at the party this weekend, won't you?"

Justin nodded before backpedaling to let them pass. "Wouldn't miss it."

The pair continued on toward the staircase. She could swear she felt Justin's eyes on her as they started up the steps, but she couldn't bring herself to look. She'd be dreadfully embarrassed if she was wrong, and she was caught seeming to watch after  _him_ , since she was certain she already had her hands quite full managing the three other wizards with whom she was involved.

As they moved higher through the castle, she scraped and scrambled and tried to remember something about her history with Sirius. Finally, as he halted her, to allow the staircase they were on to stop moving, she turned her gaze to him.

"Sirius, this is driving me mad!"

He pouted, a little confused downturn of his lips. "What is?"

"Not remembering. Tell me something, please."

"Anything."

Well, now that he'd said that, she wasn't sure where to start. "Tell me just one thing about you and me. How—how did we start being  _more_  than friends?"

"Huh." That pout turned into a wicked half-grin. "Okay." As the staircase stopped, he pulled her to the landing and spun her, tugging her back against him. Wrapping his arms tight around her waist, he put his chin over her shoulder, so that his voice would be in her ear, his breath on her skin, as he told her.

"Do you see that corridor down there?"

Hermione followed his direction, even as she found herself sinking back against him. Even as she rested her arms over his. "Third floor corridor? Isn't it off-limits?" That was one thing she remembered, no matter if what she recalled of first year had, or had not, happened, that corridor was never in-use by the school.

He nodded. "You didn't care. It was last year, dinner before the first day of school; you said you were feeling ill and asked if I could see you to Gryffindor tower. We started up the stairs, next thing I knew, you took my hand and dragged me over there."

Her skin flushed and she could feel the giddy swoop of butterflies through her stomach. " _I_  did?"

He snickered at her awed tone. "You most certainly did." Sirius turned his head just a little more, his lips brushing her skin lightly as he went on. "'I've noticed you watching me,' you said to me. 'What I don't understand, is why you've never made your move.' You reminded me of all the nights you've been at Grimmauld Place, told me that if I'd have made an advance then, you'd have  _welcomed_  it."

Hermione bit into her bottom lip, shivering in his embrace. A sweet tingle of warmth was starting low in her belly at his tone.

Sirius spared a moment to graze her ear with the very edge of his teeth. When she shivered harder, he breathed a chuckle. "You told me to go ahead and do something—do  _one_ of the many things I probably imagined doing with you."

Her brows shot up, even as she tried to concentrate around the pleasant stir of feelings he was causing. That rather sounded like how she'd just spoken to him, didn't it?

"And so, I took both of your dainty little wrists in my hand and pushed you up against the wall. I snogged your brains out; we were both gasping for air by the time I pulled back."

Hermione had to remind herself to breathe.

"You said, 'there's more to this, isn't there?' Looking up at me with those big, brown eyes of yours, your arms pinned up over your head. You were the very picture of enticement, little love." He held her a bit tighter to him, then, his hold possessive in a way that sent a delicious shock through her. "You did this funny little thing where you wiggled your hips and looked down at yourself. Then, you looked at me, again, square in the eye, and said, 'Go ahead, I want you to.' And so I slid my hand beneath your skirt and into your knickers. The sounds you made as I explored you were music, little love. Since that day, I've just about been your slave."

She swallowed hard, finding it impossible to ignore the press of his body against hers. With small, uncertain movements, she turned in his arms to look at him.

"Oh, no," he said in a rushed whisper, his breath coming short, just from the recollection. "I know that face. Not now. Lucius said you're to rest. We can reenact  _whatever_  you wish when you're feeling more steady."

Hermione didn't know if she was relieved or disappointed as she nodded, putting up no further fuss as she let him continue on guiding her to Gryffindor tower.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

The following day, Hermione couldn't quite focus, again. Though, this time she was more certain it was simply that her thoughts were scattered, in general, rather than worrying over that stupid mask. Not that she didn't still feel it a source of concern, but she was semi-satisfied with the explanation she'd given herself last night.

She perhaps should've bowed out on classes today, but she'd rested enough and was getting equally sick of both the hospital wing, and her own bed. Be that as it was, she didn't feel very hungry, and so she'd retreated to the library during lunch.

It also hadn't helped that she, once again, had been stopped from being able to speak with Severus after class. This time by Professor Slughorn needing a meeting of the minds about a potions problem. Hermione wasn't sure what it said about her situation that the less she got to talk to Severus, the worse her feeling of being out of sorts got. Maybe she did remember something of _them_ , after all. Yet, she wasn't going to pin her hopes on that, since it hadn't gone without her notice that she and Severus did seem rather naturally drawn to one another.

Perhaps that was just some facet between them she had been incapable of noticing in the assortment of unsteady memories in the back of her head. In those recollections, there was a lot of contention between them, but no such pull,  _but_  it was possible she simply hadn't seen it because she'd been so convinced he scared her, and she grated on his nerves.

At least there was some comfort at the familiar setting of the library—doubly so at how empty it was during lunch.

That was when she thought . . . perhaps she should look at the book she recalled falling on her. She remembered exactly the shelf, exactly the order. If it was there . . . well, she really didn't know what that would prove, but she had to check.

Quietly scooting her chair back from the table, she stood and made her way toward the bookcase she'd been standing before when she'd been assailed by that tome.

But then a loud  _thwack_  shattered the silence of the library.

Jumping, Hermione turned on her heel toward the sound. Perhaps some of the castle ghosts were restless?

The hard slap of a book being slammed shut followed.

_Definitely not a ghost_.

She headed toward the sound, her footfalls as quiet as she could make them. As she neared the section of shelves that hid the table the sounds emanated from, she thought she could make out a frustrated muttering.

It sounded familiar.

With a thoughtful frown, Hermione leaned around the bookcase. Indeed, the muttering voice had been familiar, as was the head of long, pale hair bent over an open book.

"Lucius?" Dear God, when had she stopped referring to him as Mr. Malfoy with such ease?

He sat back with a sigh before turning a tired smile on her. "Hermione? Should've known you'd be here. I apologize if I disturbed you."

She moved around the bookcase and crossed to stand beside his chair. "You look exhausted," she said with a shake of her head. "What are you researching?"

His grey eyes drifting closed, he returned his gaze to the book open before him, and the pile just beyond it. "Precisely what I told you I would—any of the artifacts rumored to be in the tunnels."

Hermione felt a little thump in the center of her chest. He appeared as though he'd not slept . . . . He'd been awake all night to help  _her_?

"I take it nothing, so far?"

He shook his head. "Perhaps . . . ." With another sigh, he propped his elbows on the table and dropped his forehead against his fists. "Perhaps I'm simply not looking in the right place. I'm sorry, Pet. If the information exists, I'll find it. I  _promise_  you."

There it went again, that curious little thump against her ribcage. This time, however, it prompted her to reach out, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

As he tipped his head, brushing his cheek against her knuckles, she started to wonder if it was such madness, after all, that she was involved with him?

Was it such madness to consider that she might feel something genuine for all three of them?

She was so lost in her thoughts, she gave a little start to realize he'd shifted his head to drag his lips across the back of her hand. But with that little start, there was also a sweet shiver. A bloom of warmth flared in her cheeks as she watched him.

Hermione had the impression in her mind that once, she'd have snatched her hand away, but now, she had no desire to move out of his reach.

Lifting his head, he shifted to thread the fingers of his opposite hand through hers. She was certain she must've been in at least a little bit of a daze as she watched the affectionate gesture, because the next thing she knew, she was sitting across his lap.

She had a vague recollection of him tugging her arm, and beyond that, of her easily giving into the motion.

Now, she simply stared at him, so very close that she could feel his breath on her skin. She could see the faint stubble—ever so slightly darker blonde than the hair on his head—dusting his chin and jawline. She thought she remembered seeing him with a five o'clock shadow before, but she seemed to recall him looking much more haggard and worn, then. Right now he only looked tired, and she knew.

This, too, was a sign of how many hours he'd just spent pouring over these books. For her.

There was a flicker through his grey eyes, then, and she wondered if he might not understand the direction of her thoughts. Could he really know her so well?

But, of course, he must, because in answer to her questioning expression, Lucius nodded. "For _you_ , Pet? I would do anything," he said, his voice barely a whisper.

As she found her mouth pressed to his, she could not honestly be sure which of them had moved first. Perhaps it had been mutual, but she was leaned into him. She'd shifted to straddle his lap, her body pressed to his, and only now, seconds later, were his arms closing around her to hold her against him.

His hair was impossibly soft, brushing the backs of her hands as she circled his neck to rake her fingers through the long, silky locks of it. Had she always wanted to touch his hair? It seemed such a silly thing, yet, now, as she tilted her head to dart her tongue between his lips, she found herself utterly fascinated with the texture of the strands.

He uttered a little rumbling sound of satisfaction in the back of his throat as he opened to her, as he eagerly caressed her invading tongue with his own. She wondered briefly if it startled him that she was being the aggressor. Did she often take charge? Did he? Did they have a balance wherein they traded off?

An exquisite thrill ran through her as he nipped at her tongue, scraping his teeth against it ever so lightly, and she thought they must've learned something from each other, because that was  _her_ move! But now that he was doing it to her and she understood how it felt to be on the receiving end of that teasing nibbling, now that he slid his hands down to cup her arse as he pulled her tighter to him, still, she realized she could not care less about their usual dynamic.

She was absolutely itching to run her hands beneath his robes, to know if the feel of his skin beneath her fingers would be familiar, or seem like something wholly new to her.

But then, he gripped a hand into her hair and pulled her mouth from his, breaking the kiss.

She only looked up at him, startled as they caught their breath in loud, ragged gulps of air. His grey eyes had a dazed appearance to them, and his typically pale lips were full of color, now, from their kissing.

Dear  _God_ , Lucius Malfoy was beautiful!

After a few heartbeats, he swallowed hard and forced out the words, "Perhaps we should abstain from such things until your memory has returned."

Hermione had an image in her head that her responding expression must be quite comical. She could feel the slow climb of her brows up her forehead and the setting of her jaw as she held his gaze, as though both reactions were happening entirely of their own volition.

She was pressed against him so tight, she thought she was aware of every inch of him beneath his robes—certainly she was aware of the sensation of him twitching to life under her. It was all she could do not to rock in his lap, just now, as she simply sat there, watching him as he watched her, while he grew hard. His other hand still cupped her arse with splayed fingers, holding her exactly where she was.

"Somehow," she said, forcing a gulp of her own as she dropped her gaze to his lips, "I get the impression you're not so sure that's what we should do, at  _all_." When had she gotten so  _very_  bold?

Lucius breathed out a chuckle as he arched a brow. "Let me be very clear—what I  _want_ to do, and what I think we  _should_ do, are not the same thing, by any stretch of the imagination, Pet."

But still, neither of them had moved . . . . Well, that wasn't entirely true, there was part of Lucius that was  _rather_ active, just now. The feel of him beneath her was sending the most delicious little tremors through her.

Very much against her better judgment, she found herself asking, "You've already told me what you think we should do, but what is it you want to do?"

"Do not play this game, Pet," he said, a smirk curving his lips.

How was it that the mere sound of his voice, just now, had her fighting, once more, not to start rocking in his lap? There was just something about his tone . . . it was almost a purr against her skin.

" _Please_ tell me?"

There was something utterly enthralling to her about the way he sank his teeth into his bottom lip as he let his eyes drift closed. "Always have been able to twist me around your little finger with words, alone."

She only watched his face expectantly as she went back to stroking her fingers through his hair.

He opened his eyes, able to hold her gaze for barely a moment before he uttered a pained groan. With the hand still tangled in her wild, golden-brown locks, he tilted her head to one side. Catching her earlobe between his teeth, he nibbled and sucked at the bit of soft, sensitive skin.

Hermione shivered against him, moaning softly as her hips bucked, rocking her over him nearly before she realized she'd done it.

Lucius made a soft growling noise in her ear. "What I want to do," he said, his lips brushing, warm and wet over her skin as he spoke, "is bend you over that table behind you, tear off your knickers, and  _bury_ myself inside you."

She gasped at his words, but it was a pleading sound. So clearly she could imagine that . . . and blast it all, she could feel a responding warmth between her thighs.

"As it is, I think, for the moment, I shall simply settle for getting you to utter more of those lovely little moans."

Relinquishing his hold on her, he turned her in his lap, pulling her back against his chest. There was a fleeting thought through her head that they should be grateful the library was still empty . . . however, with what she'd come to expect of, well, everyone, she didn't imagine unexpected company would give them pause.

He slid one hand beneath her uniform robes and up along her thigh. As he dipped his fingers into her knickers, parting her expertly to move over her in teasing strokes, he made another of those rumbling sounds.

His free hand slipping upward to cup her breast, he tipped his head, tracing over the side of her throat with the tip of his tongue.

Hermione trembled in his embrace, feeling as though she was melting against him as she parted her legs wider for his hand.

"You poor thing. You're positively soaking, my Pet."

She slipped her hands over his, but—while she was so very certain that once upon a time, she'd have forced him to stop—she only urged the fingers between her thighs to stroke her faster. She guided the hand at her breast to catch her nipple through the fabric of her clothes in rough, pinching tugs.

Her head fell back against his shoulder as she moved in his lap, working herself against his ministrations.

Lucius  _tsked,_ his tone playful. "You have just been starving for attention these last few days, haven't you?"

She barely heard him, her focus on the quick, circling rubs of his fingertips. The way he would ease the pressure as soon as he felt her starting to tense, only to press harder, once more, the moment she relaxed, was driving her  _absolutely_  mad.

Perhaps she was used to this form of attention? The way she'd kissed Severus at Diagon Alley? How easily she pictured the incident Sirius had recounted for her yesterday afternoon? How quick she was to yield to Lucius?

"I suppose I have," she said, her voice barely more than a shivering moan as it escaped her lips. " _Please_ stop teasing, now."

_Poor little dear_ , he thought. She was  _so_  frustrated, she sounded on the verge of tears. Oh, well, at least this would take the edge off for her.

He gave in, stroking her harder and faster. When she tensed this time, he slid the hand from her breast down her body. Slipping into her robes, as well, he dipped his fingers through the side of her soaked knickers.

The near-shouted moan that escaped her as he sank into her with two fingers just about undid him. It was all he could do to continue—really, the option of simply throwing her forward to bend over the table and drive himself into her was seeming more and more likely.

He had to let her finish before he found himself going against his own better judgment.

Hermione gripped her fingers into the fabric of his robes, forcing her muscles a little more,  _just_  a bit further. The delving of his hand, the stroking of his fingertips had her in quick, panting gasps as the orgasm finally crashed over her.

"There we are, Pet," Lucius said, his tone cooing as fine tremors racked her tensed form. "There we are."

"Oh . . . oh,  _God_  . . . ."It was all she could manage as the sweet, tingling warmth coursed through her limbs and stole the air from her lungs.

As it ebbed, she started rocking against his hand, her movements stilted and jerking.

He slowed his ministrations, but did not withdraw his plunging fingers until she collapsed against him. Though, he gave her a few more teasing rubs, chuckling at how it made her jump in his embrace, before he said, "Breathe, Pet, breathe."

Nodding as he turned her in his lap, once more—this time to cradle her against him—she drew in deep gulps of air. She could still feel how hard he was beneath her, she could hear the hammering of his heart against his ribcage as he guided her to rest her head against his chest. God, he must be in agony, right now, she thought, surprised that his discomfort made her sad.

"What about you?" she asked, aware of him resting his chin atop her head as he wrapped his arms around her.

"You are sweet to concern yourself," he replied with a chuckle. "It's not exactly comfortable, but I assure you, I'll manage."

Hermione's brows shot up and her jaw fell, unable to stop the mental image of Lucius  _managing_   _himself_  after this. There was something so scandalously thrilling about the idea of him stroking himself to orgasm because of  _her_.

"You two certainly look cozy."

She started at Severus' voice. Looking toward the library doors, she saw him and Sirius there.

Severus looked . . . displeased, and she wondered just how much he'd witnessed. He knew about Lucius and Sirius, but she supposed given her skittish behavior after he'd kissed her that first day after her accident, she couldn't say she blamed him for seeming upset that she was here, cuddling with Lucius.

Sirius' brows shot up as he looked from the witch and wizard at the table to Severus, and back. Shaking a finger in the air, he said, "I . . . I think I'll just . . . ." He turned and exited the library without even finishing his sentence.

Lucius pinched between his brows as he shook his head. "Severus, you  _said_ you'd stop being so territorial."

Yet, the dark-haired man's expression only pinched harder before he, too, turned and stalked out.

Hermione was jarred as Lucius scooped her from his lap and set her on her feet. She wobbled for a moment—which earned a laugh from him—before she could turn a questioning look on him.

He furrowed his brows at her expression. "You are going after him, aren't you?"

Her shoulders slumped. He really did know her. Nodding, she leaned down, planting a parting kiss on his the pale-haired wizard's lips, and then turning to jog—unsteadily—after Severus.

As she exited the library, she found he'd not gotten far. "Severus!"

His posture stiffened as he halted. Turning back to face her, he simply watched her as she reached him.

"Are you angry with me?"

Severus' shoulders drooped as he shook his head. His eyes were suddenly, incredibly sad as he said, "Merlin, no! I just . . . I am angry, yes! But not at _you_. At the circumstances. I may have to accept your relationships with Sirius and Lucius, but that doesn't mean I want to have to walk in and see you . . . ."

She didn't want to ask. She didn't think she actually wanted to know how much he'd seen—how much he'd stood there and watched, feeling rooted to the spot, more than likely. But she had to.

"Walk in and see me  _what_?"

He drew a deep breath, once more shaking his head. "See you being  _close_  with one of them." Severus darted out his tongue to wet his lips and then sighed. "I can handle the shagging. Hell, Sirius could lay you on a table in the Great Hall and have you for lunch, and I could handle it!"

Her brows shot up and her jaw fell open at that.

He didn't seem to notice her reaction, however, as his eyes drifted closed in a pained expression. "I don't expect you  _not_ to care for them, but . . . your heart? It was  _mine_ , first.  _I'm_ the one you gave it to, before them, and it kills me when I have to see you share it with them the way you share it with me."

She had no idea what to say. This was not, at all, what she thought it was. Pressing her hands to her face, she tried to get her bearings.

Was she ever going to feel like the world was steady beneath her feet, again?

"I'm sorry," he said, his tone utterly miserable. "Lucius was right, I promised you I'd try not to be so territorial, anymore. You have to understand, here I am trying to give you time to remember, and I walk in and there you are with him."

Hermione slid her hands from her face to look up at him. As she did, her fingers fell to her neck and she felt the shape of her necklace there.

The one he'd given her.

"I didn't expect that to happen, just now, but I won't pretend that I even tried to stop it. Lying about it wouldn't be fair. I honestly still don't remember much, and I don't know how I feel about  _anything_ , really. But look." She opened her collar and lifted the slice of silver.

A reluctant grin played on his lips. "You're wearing my present? I didn't think—"

"I put it on the morning after you gave it to me; the morning after our disastrous trip to Diagon Alley."

He sputtered out a surprised laugh at that.

"I may not know what's going on, exactly, or what I really feel, but I know it's important to me that  _you_ gave me this." Letting the bit of silver slip from her fingers, she stepped closer, still.

She reached out, her movement tentative as she took hold of his hand. God, there was just something in his expression at her touch that simply tore at her heart, and lightened it, all at once.

"That  _has_ to mean something, doesn't it?"

For a painfully stretched moment, he only stared down at her. How odd that she was instantly so in fear that he would pull out of her grasp and walk away.

But then, he lifted her hand in his and pressed a kiss to the back of it. "Of course it does. This is just the most bizarre situation I could've imagined."

Hermione laughed in spite of herself. "You and me, both."

"Meet me in my classroom as the end of classes tomorrow."

"Why?"

His perfectly arched brows inched upward. "Tomorrow is Friday, the day  _before_  Sirius has that infernal birthday party for you." He drew her close, covering her mouth in a hungry kiss before he pulled back enough to meet her gaze. "If he has planned for your gift what I think he does, then you and I should have a chat, first." He kissed her once more and then released her. "I must return to set up for my afternoon lessons. Tomorrow, darling."

Severus released her and turned, striding down the corridor.

She watched him for several heartbeats. Her gaze seemed to drift everywhere over him as he went—the sway of his shoulders, how his hips moved, the glint of light off his dark hair . . . .

For the umpteenth time that day, her brows shot up. "Oh," she said as she realized how very certain she was that the  _chat_  he wanted to have with her would probably involve very little talking.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick word here, to everyone who's wondered why Hermione hasn't just 'come clean' about her memories, or why it hasn't occurred to her that she's in an alternate reality 'right away.' Hermione is a very logical person. It would not logically occur to someone that they're somehow in an alternate reality simply because their memories tell them something different than what is happening—especially in the wake of head trauma. Even less so would this seem a logical conclusion in a world where charms, artifacts, and spells capable of compromising one's memories and perception exist. Even the notion that she might be going mad would seem more logical than reality-hopping. That she suffered head trauma, and was discovered in a tunnel where there is rumored to exist a number of mysterious, unknown magical artifacts with effects no one understands makes it much more probable that she would think an artifact has affected her.

**Chapter Seven**

Hermione could barely keep her eyes open the next day during classes. She'd not had any nightmares, no, but then . . . . She was rather certain the bizarre snippets of dream she recalled caused her quite the restless slumber.

In DADA class she sat, trying very hard to focus on Severus' voice, but, with her elbow propped on her desk, and her chin in her hand, she felt her head nodding of its own volition. Even the vague awareness of Harry nudging her in her side didn't help much.

The only thing that seemed to jolt her, at all, were the moments when Severus fixed his gaze on hers as he continued lecturing the class. Even while her mind was so fuzzy she could not quite understand his words, she recognized the shift in his tone when he asked a question, and not one hand went into the air.

Not even hers, hence the drawing of his attention to her, in the first place.

She knew he'd be concerned with her lackluster response to the lesson, but she'd had a rough couple of days, if anyone understood that . . . . Oh, but it wasn't only the events. Her mind kept tripping back to last night's dream.

Drifting along through the Dark Forest. Had it been winter, or fall? She couldn't quite remember. Chilly, yes, dark despite that it was day, the branches bare.

And she wasn't alone.

The entire forest had been silent, aside from the footfalls of her companions, crunching through the leaves and frozen grass on the ground. Quite without warning, they came upon it.

A door. Impossibly, it stood on its own in the center of a small clearing. She could make out odd smudges against the stark white paint.

Swallowing hard, she looked to the others. The cloaked figures had halted on either side of her. They moved as one, raising their arms to point toward the door.

Of course, how silly of her to forget. This was what they'd come for.

Nodding, she was oddly aware of herself being the only one not dressed in rich, black folds. On the contrary, she wore a simple slip of white.

_Miss Granger._

As she walked toward the door, she was distinctly aware that they had not walked with her. They hung back, watching.

_Miss Granger._

The closer she got, the more she made out the smudges. Crimson against the white paint. Closer, still . . . and she thought she could detect the detail of ridges here, the deep lines of a palm there.

_Hermione?_

It was only belatedly, as she gripped the doorknob, that she wondered who had left those bloody hand prints.

"Hermione!"

Hermione snapped open her eyes to find Severus before her. He was leaned toward her, his hands curled around her upper arms, and she was pretty sure he'd just given her a shake.

"Sev . . ." she said, trying to speak around her own quick, shallow breaths.

A concerned expression pinched his features, his head shaking as he looked her over, but did not relinquish his hold. "What just happened?"

She forced a gulp down her throat, hating that she'd gone and caused him to worry, again, but then, she was worrying herself. She'd not even realized she'd drifted off.

Worse, that dream had felt so real, so vivid, as impossible as it had been, that as she stared back at him, all she could manage in response was a whispered, "I've no idea."

Severus frowned as he shook his head once more. "Perhaps we should get you to the hosp—"

"No, no!" Her eyes shot wide at the thought of spending even another minute in the hospital wing. "Please don't take me there, again. After the last few days it's starting to feel like I live there!"

He took a second with that, before he cracked a smirk so slight, it was nearly imperceptible. "Well, under the circumstances, it's always good to find you still sounding like yourself."

She frowned right back at him with his implication that she was always snippy. "Please, I just . . . need a moment, or something."

His shoulders slumping, he nodded. "I have a class shortly, but you are, of course, welcome to stay as long as you need. I'm certain Sirius will forgive you being a little late."

There it was in his tone. The tiniest bit of resentment as he said the other wizard's name. Not as though she'd forgotten their discussion outside the library yesterday afternoon—on the contrary, she'd turned it over in her mind again and again until she'd fallen asleep last night—but hearing that note in his voice brought the matter rushing to the forefront of her thoughts.

"Tell me something," she said, holding his gaze as he continued to hover so protectively before her. Goodness, she'd said that quite a bit over the last handful of days, hadn't she?

His eyelids swept downward in a slow blink as he replied, "Anything."

"It's obvious you're less than thrilled with my . . . um, relationships with Sirius and Lucius." She was acutely aware of one of his eyebrows arching upward. "And I just . . . I don't understand why you put up with it."

Frowning, he rounded the desk to take the seat beside her and she turned with his movement, so she faced him as he sat down. "Hermione, you seem to be under the impression that I have control over you."

Her brows pinched together. "Well, no, not control, but—"

"It's your body, and it's no one's place to control what you do with it. Not mine, or Sirius', or Lucius', or _anyone's_  but yours."

"That's very pragmatic, but I can't see the three of you being happy with the way things are."

Severus pursed his lips a moment in thought. "Memory's still fuzzy, is it?"

She uttered a mirthless laugh. "That obvious, is it?"

Sighing, he raked his fingers through his lank jet hair. "Sirius . . . his ego is his biggest flaw. I'm certain your aware of his little fan club."

Hermione's brows climbed upward as she nodded, recalling seeing the students floating love notes to Professor Black's desk while his back was turned.

"That's all he really wants out of life. Their silly little crushes keep him appeased in that way, so he is perfectly content with the . . . dynamic the two of you have. And Lucius? I'll be perfectly frank, I'm not entirely certain how  _that_  started, but I knew he had no one since Narcissa's death, and I think he was lonelier than he wanted to admit, even to himself."

Hermione bit hard into her bottom lip to keep from uttering a sound of shock. Narcissa Malfoy  _had_ died. She refrained from shaking her head at herself, remaining focused on the discussion. This would be an ideal moment to ask how she'd died, but that might only derail the conversation.

"He . . . ." Severus shook his head, taking one of her hands between both of his. "He was alone for so long, and then, one day, you'd sprained your ankle, and I'm given to understand you two had 'a moment' while he was tending your injury. You challenged him in a way few people have had the courage to do, so many people are intimidated by him. I think he recognized in you the same spark that had drawn him to Narcissa."

"Funny, the Lucius Malfoy I remember loved to have people cower before him."

He snickered, lifting his gaze to hers, once more. "I see some of your memory is still intact. Yes, but that only goes for  _most_  people. People who are not close to him, people whom he does not wish to let see who he really is. Something you said that day made him aware that you were not cowed. You came to me later that day and explained that something had happened between the two of you, and that you were not certain if it was anything, at all. And, a year later, here we all are."

_Here we all are_ , a little voice in her head echoed, yet . . . that  _we_  did not include anything about him. She knew how she and Sirius had started, and now she knew how she and Lucius had started.

Her chestnut eyes narrowed as she dropped her attention to his hands around hers for the briefest moment. "What about you? How did you and I start?"

He cracked a tiny wisp of a half-smile. "You and I? Well, it was right after—"

The door opened, then, cutting him off. He didn't snatch back his hands and jump out of the seat, as she might've expected, but then, she reminded herself that everyone in the school knew of their relationship. That and this whole bizarre  _student-teacher relationships aren't a thing to fuss over_  notion she was still scrambling to remember.

Sighing, he let his shoulders slump as he nodded and relinquished his hold on her hands. "You recall I asked you to come here at the end of your classes today?"

"Of course."

Again that half-smile appeared. "Good. We will discuss this further _, then_."

Nodding, she could only watch in silence as he finally unfolded himself from behind the student desk and strolled to the front of the classroom. Hermione swallowed hard, giving herself a shake as she, too, stood up—she was sitting in another student's seat now, after all.

She liked the feel of his elegant, long-fingered hands closed around hers, just now. She liked the visible tone of concern in his spell-marred blue eyes. She liked the way his mouth twitched ever so slightly just before he could let himself smile.

Tearing her gaze from him, she turned on her heel and started from the room. This was ridiculous, she thought, though a grin curved her lips and a little warming blush flared in her cheeks. She . . . she even liked the way he walked.

Once outside in the corridor, she spun beside the door, putting her back to the wall for support. There was a jittery feeling in her limbs, and a giddy zipping through her stomach.

She had butterflies over the thought of being alone with him later, and she liked that, too.

* * *

Much of the rest of the morning and afternoon passed in a haze—with the exception, of course, of Sirius tossing an occasional wink or flirtatious grin her way mid-lecture, and the very odd sensation of eyes on her. She could swear she felt that at least once, everywhere she went that day.

Though, of course, no one was watching her when she turned to look, she could not shake the feeling. It reminded her of that troubling dream from last night, somehow.

And that—again, somehow—made her think on the tunnels beneath the school. The robed figures in her dream were probably connected to the mask in her trunk, that made sense. But were they based on actual people, or a figment of her worried imagination?

The door, was it a metaphor?

At lunch, Hermione stirred her fork in her food absently as she tried to put that together with the information she'd quietly amassed, thus far. Both Luna and Pansy had stopped manhandling Harry—and one another—long enough to ask her what had her so distracted.

She was relatively sure she murmured something about her mind being on meeting Severus after last class. Both of the other witches apparently found this explanation enough, and went back to _whatever_  it was they'd been doing that made Harry utter that ridiculous noise.

Yes, yes. A metaphor. But for what, exactly? There were so many things a door could represent. She sat up a little straighter, then as she wondered . . . .

What if it wasn't a metaphor, at all? What if she only thought so because of her own compromised memories, and the fuzzy, non-sequitur nature of dreams?

What if that was what she'd seen down there? What if the emblem she remembered seeing had been set not into a crevice in a wall, but into a door?

Chewing her lip furiously, she wondered if there could, indeed, be a lost room beneath the castle. Not the Chamber of Secrets, no . . . . Something deeper down, something . . . .

_Older._

A chill danced up her spine at that moment, but she was snapped back to the present by her friends dragging her from the table and onto their next class.  _All right_ , she decided. She needed to sort this out, and she couldn't manage that with what she recalled and what had actually been warring with each other.

Severus would listen. He'd believe her—and what a strange turn of events that she could admit to trusting him so completely—when she told him she remembered things that hadn't happened, and forgotten all that had. Indeed, as the Dark Arts professor, he'd probably know of artifacts that had such a powerful and disconcerting affect.

If there was a room down there, then whatever had done this to her was surely inside.

_And_ , if she'd not been so off-kilter those first few days, or even those first few hours, she might've confided in him sooner.

But, he'd promised to discuss other things with her, first, so she'd get those answers, and then sit him down. Oh, God, that was another reason she hadn't wanted to say anything. How was he going to take it when she explained to him that she remembered him as an imposing creature who utterly intimidated her?

As she made her way toward his classroom later that afternoon, she thought of that again, and again. The very idea of what his face might look like as he registered her words broke her heart.

God, what a weird week she was having.

* * *

Outside his door, she squared her shoulders and schooled her features. She didn't want him to think she was upset, or he'd derail the entire intended discussion to find out what was troubling her.

Letting out a low, quiet breath, she pushed open the door and peeked in. There he was, his back to her as he cleared the day's lesson from the board.

She slipped inside, closing the door gently behind her. The latch made a distinct  _click_  in the silence of the room, and he looked over his shoulder.

For a flickering moment, Hermione felt her heart squeeze in her chest as his gaze locked on hers. Oh,  _madness_ , this was!

He went back to his task, allowing her time to cross the room to him. Severus removed his cloak and draped it across the back of his chair as he turned to face her.

When she seemed cautious, still, he patted his desk in a welcoming gesture.

Try as she might, she could not recall sitting like that before. But . . . she couldn't deny wanting to know what that might be like, now. Wanting to perch there on his desk before him as they spoke to each other in hushed tones.

_Good Lord, Hermione! What is_  happening  _to you?_

Nodding, and aware of a wash of color blooming in her cheeks, she moved around his desk. There was something strangely intimate in how he held her gaze as she lifted herself back to sit.

"Better?"

A bit of the tension she'd been carrying drained out of her, then. "Actually, yes."

"Good." Dusting his hands off against his robes, he folded his arms across his chest. "You wanted to know how  _we_ began, yes?"

She nodded, aware of something in his tone. Uncertainty, perhaps? Did he think that presenting her with this information, now when she might view things differently, would make her turn him away?

"Yes."

With a nod of his own, he slipped a photograph from inside his cloak and held it out to her. "What I once looked like."

Hermione took the image between delicate fingertips. Yes, there was the Severus Snape she remembered. He looked to be arguing with someone off-camera, and she couldn't help but laugh at that.

"I remember," she said in a whisper as she handed it back.

With a sigh, he dropped the photograph aside. Running his fingers down his own cheeks, he began, "I had hated this face. This new . . . stranger staring back at me from the mirror. Even my eyes no longer seemed to be my own. I shied away from everyone. My temper got worse—"

"I didn't think that was possible." She hadn't meant to interrupt, but thought of a bad temper in connection with the face she'd just seen prompted the words.

With a self-deprecating half-grin, he shook his head. "Well, it was. And then, one day . . . must've been a few months I'd been suffering quietly with this  _malady_. Anyway, I had been cleaning up after class, just as you found me today. I turned around, and there you sat."

Her eyes widening, she pointed at the desk beneath her. "Here? Just like this?"

Severus nodded. "Before I could even tell you to leave, you said, 'Professor Snape, what has you so very angry lately?' Seems you fancied us as having some sort of rapport, one I was damaging with my attitude. Though, I could not deny that we did; a grudging respect, is more what I'd call it."

Hermione pressed her lips together, holding in a quiet giggle at that—she thought _that_  sounded familiar, too.

"And I realized . . . no one had thought to ask me how I was feeling. No one had considered that just because this face was more—more aesthetically appealing, I suppose, didn't mean I was  _happy_ with the outcome of what could've been a truly awful result. No one cared that I was so angry because I literally did not recognize myself anymore, and it occurred to me that no one asked because they hadn't been capable of understanding how much the change was affecting me."

He shrugged, those strangely becoming eyes rolling in thought. "So, when you asked, it just came all spilling out. And the last thing I said on the matter was that I couldn't bare to touch my own face."

Severus paused them, seeming to need to catch his breath.

This was just the tip of the iceberg, though, she thought. "And then what?"

"Well . . . ." He cleared his throat and stepped nearer. Bracing his palms against the desk on either side of her, he leaned close, his face right before hers. "I hadn't realized," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper, "that I'd been so . . . swept up in my emotions, that when I finished venting to you, this was how I was standing."

Hermione held her breath, painfully aware of the warmth of him hovering just before her.

"And you, you lifted your hands and cupped my cheeks."

Forcing a gulp down her throat, she did exactly as he'd just said. "Like this."

Nodding, Severus forced himself to focus. He wanted to turn his head, to brush his lips against her palms, in turn, but she wanted to know, and he'd not gotten there _just_  yet.

"Exactly like that. It was the first time anyone had touched this face aside from the few times I'd done so because I had no choice. You asked me if _I_ had changed. Of course, I didn't think I had, and I answered as much." He exhaled sharply, then, and she could feel the rush of his breath against her lips, making the delicate skin tingle. "You said that that was all that mattered, then, wasn't it?  _You_  didn't see me as any different than I'd been before; why should I let an image in the mirror dictate what _I_  thought of myself?"

Now, with the pitch in his tone, and how he looked at her, she had an idea of what had happened next. Even so, she asked, "Then what?"

"Then we . . . ." He dropped his gaze from hers as he swallowed hard. Returning his attention to hers, he said, "But perhaps you don't want me to tell you this."

"You're right. I don't want you to tell me." Hermione shook her head, watching her own movements as she shifted one of her hands to trail her fingertips across his bottom lip.

Severus was acutely cognizant of how close they were to one another, of the weight of her gaze on his mouth and the gorgeous flush in her cheeks.

Bringing her gaze back to up to meet his, she said, "I want you to _show_  me."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

She was lost in the feel of his lips on hers, in the sensation of his hands trailing along her body. It seemed he was whispering as he moved from her mouth and along her cheek, down to the side of her throat. Try as she might, she couldn't focus on his words, only the beautiful timber of his voice so low like that it seemed the sound teased across her skin, as though to compliment his exploring fingers.

Nearly before she even realized she was moving, Hermione found herself unbuttoning her blouse with trembling finger. He followed the gesture, dragging kisses over her collarbone and lower to nip at her breasts through the lacy material of her bra.

"Is this . . . ?" She swallowed hard, forcing a breath as he gently urged her to lay back on the desk. "Is this really how it happened?"

She could feel the expression against her abdomen as he smirked between brushes of his lips and tongue. "It is a _bit_  different than what I recall, but the sentiment is quite close enough."

Biting into her lip to hold in a moan, she let her eyes drift closed, giving herself over to . . . really,  _whatever_ he wanted to do. She gripped loose fingers into his hair, trying not to get too excited too fast as she felt his hands move up along her legs to slide beneath her skirt.

He pushed the fabric up around her waist and brought those wet, lingering kisses to her hips. Severus, as well, was trying to not react too strongly to the way she breathed out hushed giggles as he scraped his teeth against the top of her thighs, in turn. They were  _only_ supposed to be seeing the events that had happened between them that first time, after all.

She squirmed and shivered beneath his touch as he traced the edges of her knickers with the very tips of his fingers. Though she wanted to wait for his guidance, she was far too eager for patience. Lifting her legs around him, she braced her heels on the edge of his desk. She could feel his gaze on her as he glanced at her face and let out a breathy chuckle of his own.

"That  _did_ happen," he said, amusement and hunger, both, edging his voice.

Hermione licked her parched lips, her eyes still closed and her fingers still tangled in his hair as she nodded. "Well, if I let you get this far, it's not hard to imagine what I was hoping would happen next."

Severus kept his gaze trained on her face, then, as he stroked her through the satin of her knickers. The way her mouth dropped open as she gasped set off the most delicious little tremor inside him. She kept this up, and he'd be re-introducing her to their usual room at the Leaky Cauldron sooner rather than later, he thought.

Returning his attention to the bit of her directly before him, he slid his fingers beneath the elastic edges of her knickers, parting her beneath the satin. Ducking his head, he scraped his teeth over the sensitive little bundle of nerves, using the material between them to his advantage, allowing him to nip and tease a bit rougher than normal.

Hermione shuddered, uttering a pleading whimper. The very few times she'd experienced, well,  _this,_  no one had ever done something like this—those boys seemed far too eager to get her knickers out of their way. But then, she had to remind herself, she was hardly dealing with boys, anymore.

The way Severus let out hungry, pained groans as he worked his mouth over her, how intent he was on her, rather than himself . . . . She could certainly understand why she'd been happy to leave _boys_  behind.

He slid his arms around her, rocking her against the scraping of his teeth and the swirling pressure of his tongue. The way she moved under him, how her fingers gripped into his hair told him just a bit further.

She shivered, once more, at the feel of his too-warm breath through the damp fabric as he chuckled. She couldn't believe what was happening. The ravenous sounds issuing from him, the sweet, rough pressure of his mouth buried against her . . . .

Dear God. She was being devoured—allowing herself to be devoured—by Severus Snape. And she was  _adoring_ every single second of it.

Every bit of her tensed around him and he, in response, tightened his hold on her. Hermione cried out, clinging to him. She screamed behind clenched teeth as she came, reflexively trying to pull him closer to her, still.

Severus kept up that slightly-rough pace, his teeth grazing and tongue stroking, guiding her through her orgasm. Only as the tension started draining from her after several blissfully mindless heartbeats, did he begin to ease his ministrations.

She trembled, writhing beneath him as he slowed. Again. She . . . she  _really_  wanted to do this again, but she didn't know that her body could handle more, just now. When he finally stopped, she let out a quick, short, unhappy murmuring sound.

As she caught her breath, her mouth moving as though trying to form words that simply wouldn't come, she looked down the length of her body. Severus brushed lazy kisses along her inner thighs as he slowly pulled away.

Lifting those pale, spell-scarred eyes to hers, he grinned. Impossibly, adorably, she thought there was something almost bashful to the expression as he murmured, "What?"

At last finding her voice, she said in a whisper, "Nothing, I just . . . ." She couldn't believe she felt a blush flaring in her cheeks even after what he'd just done. "You just make me _really_  wish I could remember when we had this 'chat' the first time around."

He uttered a soft chuckle, but the sound was interrupted by the creaking of the classroom door.

Severus straightened to his full height and protectively placed himself between her and the half-open door. Behind him, Hermione bolted upright, reflexively smoothing her skirt down over her lap.

"You didn't lock the door?"

The witch cringed, shaking her head as she scrambled to button up her blouse. "In my defense, I didn't know at the time that I should've. But . . . but I know I _closed_  it behind me when I came in. You heard it, yourself."

A thoughtful expression marring his features, he glanced over his shoulder at her before returning his attention to the door.

She didn't like the look on his face, and she couldn't say she blamed him. Hardly as though either of them were in any danger if someone had been struck with a moment of voyeuristic fascination. This bizarre new setting she'd found herself in didn't give a Kneazle's whisker about inappropriate teacher-student relationships.

But something about this churned up an icy swirling in the pit of her stomach.

She had no idea who'd just been in the room with them, but she had the most unsettling feeling that this did  _not_ bode well. The sensation was only worsened by how obvious it was that Severus felt it, too.

Yet, it did remind her of what she wanted to discuss after she'd gotten to the bottom of how she and Severus had started. And that reenactment just now had certainly been an eye-opener, even if it—as he'd said—was a bit different than how things had happened their first time around.

Apparently forgetting that her legs might not want to cooperate, she hopped down from the desk. Only to promptly lose her balance.

The startled sound that tore from her lips caused Severus to pivot on his heel to face her just in time. Catching the off-kilter witch in his arms distracted them, both, from the unsettling incident, just now.

Laughing, he shook his head as she lifted her gaze to his. "You know better, darling."

Her brows pinched together. "Better than what?"

A smile spread across his lips. "Better than to try walking immediately after an orgasm." He loved that speaking so frankly caused the blush in her cheeks to flare anew. "You, my dear, have a penchant for acting like the victim of a  _particularly_  potent jelly legs jinx after you've been sated."

She chewed on her lips in thought. After her moment with Lucius in the library, she'd nearly fallen over when he'd set her on her feet, as well, hadn't she? Oh, but that seemed so . . . so . . . . Well, she didn't quite have words for that.

"What? _Every_  time?"

His pale eyes roved the ceiling as he thought on his answer. Pursing his lips, he at last nodded. "At least from what  _I've_  observed."

Hermione felt a smile playing on her lips. Oh, how she wished this could just be the way things were. The three of them worrying over her and tempting her until she at last had the proper memories in her head.

But that was exactly what she'd needed to speak with him about. And that notion called to mind once more the incident they'd both forgotten about nearly as fast as it had happened.

Her mirthful expression fading, she looked from him, to the classroom door, and back. "I have a very bad feeling about our sneaky little visitor just now."

Severus nodded, biting his lip. "You think whoever that was—"

"I think it might've been the person who stole my wand and left me down in those tunnels. This might sound mad, but I _think_ —whoever they are—they've been watching me."

"You said before you weren't down there alone. Was someone accompanying you, or did you happen upon someone?"

Hermione blinked rapidly a few times, trying to recall. She remembered feeling shock at the sensation of realizing she hadn't been alone. But she didn't know if that impression could be taken at face value. She could barely trust her own memories, what if she had gone down there with someone else, and simply had forgotten because of her head trauma?

Did that mean she had freely traveled to a dangerous place with someone who hadn't minded leaving her for dead?

That was too disturbing to think about, just now. But none of it gave her a solid answer. "I'm sorry. I'm trying to remember, but I really can't be sure."

He clasped his fingers around hers and turned toward the door. "Everyone knows what's rumored to be down there; it would be stupid for any of us to assume you're the only person in the school curious about what artifacts those tunnels might contain. That being said, it's entirely possible that you stumbled over not necessarily something, but someone, when you were down there." He shook his head, speaking as they crossed the room and entered the corridor, hand-in-hand. "Do you feel as though, perhaps, that could be it? Someone was up to something and they don't want you divulging to anyone whatever it is you may have witnessed?"

Hermione shrugged, hurrying along to keep pace with his longer strides. "Possibly. I know I feel a sort of gut-instinct dread when I try to think back on it. I just don't know if I'm afraid of something I found, or someone I saw. Where are we going?"

"To find Lucius and Sirius. Aside from me, they're the ones around you most. If someone _is_  after you in such a way, it's best all of us are aware of the circumstances. The better to keep an eye out for suspicious behavior from those in your surroundings."

The witch nodded, her expression solemn. Yes, it was better that the three of them were together, she could explain to all of them at once about her scattered memories not getting better. Perhaps having that confirmation would assist Lucius' search in what sort of artifact could be responsible for her remembering a life that differed so greatly from the one she currently lived.

"We should tell Harry, then, as well."

Severus immediately stopped, whirling to face her as she stumbled to a halt beside him. "No."

"But it's Harry."

Closing his eyes, he exhaled through his nostrils—a sound like he was trying to keep a handle on his patience. "I understand how close you are. I am not questioning Potter. But you two are friends with far too many people. The wrong word in front of the wrong person . . . ." He paused, forcing a deep breath. "Until we have a better idea of what might have happened to you, you breath a word of this to no one but the three of us."

There was something in his eyes that told her not to argue. Not anger, not impatience. Fear. Simple, cold fear.

Hermione nodded. This was more dire of a circumstance than she had initially thought—even with that prior awareness that someone knowingly left her to die down there. They started along, again, heading toward the hospital wing and she had all she could do to sort her thoughts and refocus on what she needed to tell them.

She never believed she'd see Severus Snape terrified before, but here it was. And he felt it  _for_  her.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

The four of them alone in an unused portion of the hospital wing, Hermione had insisted on a silencing charm. Despite hinting that he thought she was being paranoid, Lucius cast the charm, locking the doors for good measure.

She felt as if it took forever to explain to them the things she remembered differently. Severus and Sirius dead—the former an intimidating teacher and spy within the Death Eaters, who never had a charm backfire alter his facial features, the latter lost during the Battle in the Department of Mysteries, and before that, a man imprisoned for a crime he'd never committed—Lucius married to Narcissa, still, and his son being Hermione's loathsome academic rival for most of her life, rather than a friend studying abroad.

And none of them had ever laid a finger on her. More so, the world would've been horrified at such scandalous relationships being so openly known.

Muggleborns were scorned as having dirty blood, instead of celebrated for returning magic to a line thought to have lost it.

And she . . . . She had suffered trauma at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange. Bellatrix who, in actuality, was still locked up tight in Azkaban, gone so far 'round the bend she didn't even remember her own name.

When Hermione finished her explanations, she sat back in a slow, pained movement. It felt good to get out all the confusing, mixed up thoughts in her head, but now that silence followed, she was scared.

Swallowing hard, she dragged her gaze from the floor to look at each of them, in turn. They all stared back at her in shock. Somehow she knew it wasn't only the differences in her memories that was giving them so much to mull over . . . it was the small details. The minute little bits of information that made her memories sound like some version of truth.

Shaking her head, she let her eyes drift closed. It was time she be a bit more honest with herself regarding how she truly felt about the situation she was in with the three of them.

"I'm frightened. Not . . . not because someone out there wants to kill me for Lord knows why," she said in a whisper. Forcing another gulp down her throat, she nodded and continued. "But because I worry I'll wake up and this will all have been some imagining. I worry that I  _did_  just get hit on the head in the library, and I'll wake up in the hospital wing, and _this_  will have been the delusion, not those other memories. I'll wake up and . . . ." She looked to Lucius. "You'll be someone who still sort of hates me, oh, and is married, so how dare I even look at you and think the things I now think when I look at you."

She turned her attention on Severus and Sirius. As she opened her mouth this time, she had to try a few times before she could get the words out, and when they did come, her voice was thick with tears. "And you two won't even be there."

Immediately Sirius crossed to her, kneeling beside her to pull her into a hug. Severus sighed heavily and let his head loll back before he, too, soothed her, taking one of her hands in his and dropping a kiss atop her head.

Lucius, however, stayed standing a little bit away from them. His grey eyes were narrowed in thought, raking over the floor again and again as he considered everything she'd said.

"I think," he started in a low voice, and she could tell he didn't like where this was going, "the problem is not that this is a delusion, or that even what you remember is. I think . . . I think that perhaps neither of them are."

"What?"

"I believe I've drawn the same conclusion," Severus said, frowning, though he had not relinquished her hand. For whatever else had gone on since she awoke in the tunnels, these last few days had happened, they had bonded them all, so what Lucius was getting at didn't seem to matter so much right now.

Sirius and Hermione wore the same confused expression as they looked from one to the other, and back. "Mind filling us in on said conclusion, then?" Sirius asked, his lip curling in a show of impatience.

Heaving a weighted sigh, Lucius pulled out a chair from the next station and sat. He folded his arms across his chest and drew a deep breath before letting out a second sigh. "You recall a knock on the head in the library. Not severe, but enough to have knocked you unconscious. We found you in the tunnels, having been knocked unconscious . . . yet, it was severe. I was relieved and surprised that you weren't more seriously injured, and when you woke as fast as you did, I thought perhaps  _I'd_ overestimated the trauma you'd suffered. But I no longer believe that to be the case. Bear with me a moment, this might get . . . odd. Both magical theory, and Muggle science have held that there is the possibility of parallel realities. Existences that mirror our lives, but there are differences, some world-shaping, some insignificant. And, it has been theorized that there are conditions that can cause one to see, or experience, the reality that one of their other selves is living."

Hermione's brows shot up, her eyes widening. "Conditions . . . ?" She glanced at Severus, who watched her with an unreadable expression. She took comfort in it that he continued holding her hand in his. Whatever this made him think of her, it didn't change how he cared. "You mean you believe I'm from a world where these horrible things I remember really happened? And . . . the me you all remember, she and I were struck on the head at the same moment and just . . . sort of traded places?"

"I know it sounds impossible—"

"No, just highly improbable."

"Well, the two Hermiones can't be  _that_ different," Sirius said with a snicker, despite the gravity of the situation.

Lucius rolled his eyes at the interruption and started again. "I know how it sounds, but I don't think it happened unassisted. I believe you, the  _other_ you, did stumble over something down there, something that allowed such a trade to take place."

"And you think the other me took the brunt of that head trauma with her, somehow?"

"I believe it's possible, yes."

The tone in his voice . . . . She looked up at him, noting how his gaze was glued to the floor. The realization of what he was getting at sent a sharp, icy spike through her heart. "You weren't just surprised I woke up, were you? You were surprised it hadn't  _killed_  me? She's dead. You—you think she's dead. This other me that ended up in my body, she's dead _as_ me? My friends, my family, they all think  _I_  died?"

The three wizards were all terrifyingly silent as they struggled with the meaning.

She closed her eyes, a tear spilling from beneath her lashes to roll down her cheek. "And the Hermione you all love is gone, because . . . because I'm not  _her_."

Ever the pragmatist, Lucius, shook his head, wincing as he answered. "I'm not certain that matters so much, now. I think . . . on some level we all recognized the differences in you. Like you, we attributed it to the head trauma, but . . . . If she is gone, there is no other world for you, now. Nowhere for you to return to."

Oh,  _God!_  She was crying. She wanted to scream and kick herself—she  _loathed_ crying. After everything they'd all been through these past few days . . . it felt like an eternity had passed since she'd woken up in those tunnels. And now, the world she remembered?  _Gone._  The Hermione they remembered?  _Gone._

"I wanted so much to be your Hermione," she managed, the words spilling from her lips in a broken whisper.

Before she knew what was happening, Severus extracted her from Sirius' loose embrace and pulled her into his lap. Cradling her against him, he guided her to rest her cheek against the hollow of his shoulder.

Sniffling, she tried to catch her breath amidst her sobs. "But . . . why? You just heard it. I'm not—"

"You said so, yourself. Your world is gone, as is our Hermione. That does not erase what's happened between us thus far. No one knows this but the four of us." He stroked a gentle hand over her wild hair. "We are not a replacement for what you've lost, and you are not a replacement of her. We will all help each other grieve for what's gone, and adjust to what we have now. That is, of course, if that is acceptable to you."

She sat up, looking at all three of them as she hiccuped a few quiet, teary breaths. "You . . . you don't hate me for not being her?"

Sirius let out a sad laugh and shook his head. "Hate you? How was _any_  of this your fault, Little Love?"

"But I could've told you all this sooner."

"In your defense," Lucius offered with a shrug, "it would've sounded mad. I might've been forced to have you confined to the mental ward at St. Mungo's until you started making sense, again."

Her jaw fell and her shoulders sloped as she stared back at him. "That's exactly what I thought you might do if I tried to tell you!"

"The point remains," Severus cut in, his tone stern, "no one knows this but us. Someone out there tried to kill Hermione Granger. Someone who might still want you dead."

A chill ran up her spine, even as Severus ran a warm, splayed hand over her back in soothing circles. "You think it wasn't an accident? Whoever it was didn't just leave me to die?"

"We still don't know what that situation was. Those memories are gone, now. But there's a chance that rubble fell long before you were even down there. Whoever was with you could've taken the opportunity, and then simply arranged the scene anew to make it appear as though you incurred your injury during a partial collapse of the brickwork." He shook his head, his expression severe and angry. "We know you were not down there alone, someone stole and destroyed your wand, and now, someone is following you. You're in danger, that much has been evident from the start, but whatever information they think you came out of those tunnels with just might be the insurance that is keeping them from trying again."

Sirius nodded. " _No one_ else can know what's happened. They have no idea that you don't recall anything, and might worry that you'll say the wrong thing to the wrong person about whatever the hell happened down there."

"So I'm more likely to be killed for knowing nothing than for knowing something? Brilliant."

"Except you did remember something." Lucius climbed to his feet, towering over the seated trio. "You said there was a door, or a crevice, and you saw some emblem or something?"

She nodded. "That's right."

"Do you think you could remember details about it?"

Hermione frowned in thought, quietly relieved that they were all a bit pragmatic, or this situation they'd found themselves in would be one enormous, tangled mess of grief, anger, and loss. None of them had the luxury of all that, just now, but Severus was right, they had each other, and that definitely counted for something.

"No, it's still fuzzy, but it's becoming clearer. I think I might eventually remember it well enough for a description."

"Is there anything else you remember? Anything at all?"

"No, but . . . ." She swallowed hard and cast her gaze away from all three of them. "There isn't anything I remember, but there is something I found. Among my things in my trunk. I've no idea how it got there."

Severus crooked a finger beneath her chin and lifted her face, making her look at him. She thought it was odd how the way he treated her hadn't changed—it seemed none of the three of them were regarding her any differently. Though, she had a distinct sense that they would've all found it odder, still, if their behaviors toward her had changed.

"What is it?"

"A Death Eater mask. And it was mine. The design of the metal work matched my old wand, it fit my face perfectly. It was hidden in a false bottom. I got so scared I put it right back and pretended I'd never found it."

"Death Eaters don't exist, anymore," Lucius assured her, rolling up his sleeve to show her his Dark Mark-free left forearm. "After the War, when Voldemort died, we saw the error of following his beliefs and turned ourselves in. Those who didn't are imprisoned, still. How is this possible?"

"I've no idea!" She pouted in a mix of anger and confusion. "But I have told you  _all_ I know. I think . . . I think whatever else is going on, the other Muggleborns might be involved."

Sirius' brow furrowed. "What? But they've got the entire Wizarding world bending over backward for them. Why would they want to take up the mantle of the Death Eaters?"

Hermione shook her head. "See my previous answer—I've no idea."

"There are only two things that are certain in this entire mess," Severus said, the way he tightened his hold on her then seeming reflexive. "First, you're not to be left alone under any circumstances. One of the three of us will be with you at all times—"

"But you've all got jobs, how can you—?" Her words were cut off by Severus pressing his finger to her lips.

"If we tell Minerva you're in danger from an unknown threat, she'll allow it. As I was saying, one of the three of us will be with you at all times. Second, we need to go down into those tunnels and have another look around."

* * *

Hermione didn't like that idea very much, at all, though she would be lying if she said she wasn't wildly curious about the mysterious artifacts supposedly down there. The three of them dragged her to an impromptu meeting with Professor McGonagall, though they handled the talking, illuminating the danger Hermione was in, without hinting that she, well, wasn't exactly _herself_ , in the truest sense of the phrase.

Though the plans for tomorrow evening were still unchanged—to call off Sirius' birthday party for her would only raise suspicions—the three of them elected to stay the night in that unused portion of the hospital wing with her, Poppy seeing to any students who might come in for medical attention in the main section. Once they were settled in with dinner, the four traded stories.

At first, none of them seemed certain it was a good idea, but the notion of sharing, of coping so they could move on was a comforting one. Hermione told the three of them different experiences she'd share with the other Lucius, Severus, and Sirius—Lucius rolled his eyes at her talk of him flouncing about Flourish and Blotts when they first met, only to end up in a rather undignified fist-fight with Arthur Weasley, Severus chuckled and shook his head, already aware the tone his other self had probably taken with that awful Dolores Umbridge, and Sirius was quiet taken aback that he was,  _gasp_ , single! And, though she'd heard it all from Severus and Sirius, she didn't stop the three from telling her how they'd all come to be involved with the other Hermione.

There was something cathartic in sharing these tales. She wasn't certain how, perhaps there was something in the madness of this scenario, itself, but it felt like the stories had brought them closer, as well. She was certain, however, that all of them were going to have their own, private, quiet meltdowns about all this at their soonest conveniences.

After they'd all hunkered down in their own beds, Hermione became acutely aware that she wasn't the only one still awake. Looking about, she saw Severus and Lucius asleep. That could only mean . . . . "Sirius?"

"You're still awake, Little Love?"

She snickered at his whispered question. "That would be why I'm talking to you."

"I swear, every alternate you must have the same barbed wit."

Good God, at the ease with which he uttered such an otherwise mad-sounding statement she couldn't help another laugh. "Maybe."

He turned on his bed to face her, those blue-grey eyes pinning her in the night-darkened room. "You wanted to ask me something?"

"Actually, yes. Um, the birthday present you were going to give me?" She bit her lip, needing a few seconds to collect herself. "Are you still planning that even though, you know, I'm _different_?"

Sirius let out a breathy chuckle as he thought that over. "Depends. You still going to want that?"

She couldn't help the smirk that curved her lips. Being honest with herself about her situation with them was freeing. It was nice. Not just nice,  _lovely_  to be in a world where she could be open about desires like these and not be shamed for it.

"Actually, I think I just might."

He grinned, nodding as he turned over to try to get some sleep. "Well, good. Then you're in for a treat."

"Sure of yourself, aren't you?"

Sirius turned his head, catching her gaze over his shoulder. Though she couldn't see his expression, she could hear it clearly in his tone that he was grinning, still, as he said, "Oh, you'll understand why soon enough."


End file.
